Wings
by Amicitia1
Summary: [Multi-author] Kurt wants to fly, but what price is he willing to pay for wings? Kurnda, a little Lancitty. Rated for language and violence.


Credits: This story was inspired by an awesome piece of fanart from Origami_Kitten. You can view it   
here. http://www.geocities.com/origamikitten/kurtwing.jpg Thanks for letting us play with your toy,   
OK!  
Authors (in order of appearance): Amicitia, Scribbler, InterNutter, and Lyra Silvertongue, who   
demanded unequal credit for unequal work. Here's to your "two little silly scenes", Lyra.  
  
~s indicate a change of author.  
  
_Wings_  
  
Kurt lay spread-eagled in a field behind the mansion, staring up at the sky.   
"What are you doing?" Rogue, dark against the bright sky, hove into his field of view.   
"Watching the birds," he tilted his head back to see her better.   
Rogue moved around to his right and sat, wrapping her arms around her knees.   
"What's that?" Kurt pointed to something moving in a tree.   
"Bluejay," Rogue said. "And don't point, you'll scare 'em away."   
"What are those?" Kurt inclined his chin towards some birds roosting in another tree.   
"Mourning doves."   
"And those up there?"   
Rogue squinted at the two dark shapes soaring over them. "American crows?"   
"Ack-ack-ack," called one of the airborne pair.   
"Fish crows," she amended.   
There were a few moments of silence, broken only by the soft hooting of the mourning doves.   
"Wouldn't it be nice to fly?" Kurt said abruptly.   
"What?" Rogue looked at him sharply.   
"I'd like to fly."   
"Teleporting and climbing walls ain't good enough for you?"   
"I dunno," Kurt rolled his head to face her. "Don't you ever think about flying?"   
"Done it once, on borrowed power," she said thoughtfully. "Guess I'd like to do it again sometime."   
"See?"   
"Now hold on a minute," Rogue waved her finger. "I don't really *have* any powers of my own. You   
do."   
"A genetic experiment," Kurt mused. "Wing transplants. Maybe Forge-"   
"Kurt!" Rogue shoved him roughly. "That's crazy-talk."   
"Rogue," he fixed her with his golden eyes. "Let's make a promise. We'll both fly someday."   
Rogue stared, open-mouthed. "I can't promise that. It's impossible."   
Kurt smiled enigmatically. "Nothing is impossible."  
~  
Rogue said nothing, giving her fuzzy companion a curious stare. Then she cupped her hands behind   
her head and lay back on the grass, savouring the feel of ticklish fronds against her all-but-bare   
back and arms.   
Kurt rotated his head back to resume staring into the cloudless sky and sighed, blowing away a few   
seeds too close to his nose.   
Silence stretched between them for several seconds, then: "What's with the sudden interest in   
flyin'?"   
"Who said it was sudden?" Kurt retorted lazily.   
More silence.   
"Is that why you're so hooked on pilotin' the X-Jet?"   
Kurt screwed up his nose in thought. "I suppose," he allowed. "But...."   
"But what?" Rogue prompted.   
"But it never seems *real* in that thing. All that clanking and clunking and bits of machinery.   
Manmade flight."   
Rogue levered her neck a little and stared at the top of his head. "What other kinda flight *is* there   
for earth-bound folk like us?"   
Kurt said nothing, and she flopped back down again, scratching absently at her neck where some   
insect had bitten her.   
"I don't know," Kurt replied at last. "But flying in a piece of metal with glorified ceiling-fans attached   
just doesn't seem like real flight to me. When I say I dream about flying, what I mean is *proper*   
flying. Just you and the wind. And the birds. Can you imagine what it's like to fly alongside birds on   
your own power, Fraulein? It'd be breath-taking. To soar and swoop with nothing between you and   
the clouds... magical."   
As if to support his words, a low rumbling filled the air, and overhead a large passenger jet streaked   
past, leaving a thin plume of white against blue to signal its path. It was so high up as to be merely   
a blip, and Rogue was forced to squint and shield her eyes.  
~  
"You want to fly like a bird?" Rogue asked, curious. "With wings? Or like Superman?"   
"Wings, I think," Kurt decided.   
"Would you trade your arms for wings?"   
He pondered that for a moment. "Maybe. I'd still have my tail."   
"What if you didn't have a tail?" Rogue pressed.   
"That's too hypothetical for me," he grinned. "Let's go with separate wings for now, ja? I'll be the   
amazing seven-limbed being."   
"Won't that be a sight," Rogue watched the jet-trail dissipate in the breeze.   
"Now, a plan," Kurt said.   
"A plan?" Rogue turned to face him again. "How do you *plan* to grow wings?"   
"What if you absorbed Fred?" he went on. "Maybe you would be strong enough to work da Vinci's   
wings."   
"Maybe," she allowed. "Temporarily."   
"Temporarily doesn't count," Kurt said.   
"I wonder what would happen if I absorbed Warren?" she mused.   
"Who?"   
"Oh, right, you weren't there," Rogue said. "Warren was the angel guy running around New York.   
Didn't you hear about it when you got back from visiting your folks?"   
"Oh, ja," Kurt nodded. "I remember. That would be something to try."   
"If we ever find him again," Rogue sighed. "I bet it would hurt."   
"Hmm?"   
"Growing wings."   
"But wouldn't it be worth it?"   
"Yeah..." she stared into the depths of the sky for a moment, then came back to herself. "No! Stop   
running me in circles, Kurt. No matter how nice flying might be, it's *still* impossible."   
"Fraulein, it is a sad world where dreams don't come true."   
Rogue sat up and peered at him. "Kurt, are you on drugs?"   
"Was?" he joined her in a more upright position. "Nein!"   
"Do you *honestly* believe you'll be able to fly someday?"   
His stare penetrated her. "Yes," he said quietly. "Someday soon. You watch."   
He stood, and walked away.  
~  
Kurt almost immediately went to the gym, as he did when he tended to feel landbound. A feeling   
that bothered him a lot in the spring and summer. He wanted - no, *yearned* - to fly, and this was   
the closest he could get.   
Falling with style.   
At least Hank understood the need to brachiate, and had built the maze-like monstrosity of pipes   
and hoops that was scrawled across the ceiling like Escher versus the Mario Brothers.   
It called to him.   
Kurt was swinging up it, automatically; thinking of birds, dreaming of flying. Starving for   
weightlessness.   
Tears mingled with sweat as he flew the only way he knew how. No-one could know, watching him,   
that flying like this broke his heart.   
He couldn't give it up, but it hurt. And he could take such sweet pain forever and a day. Just like the   
almost-nightmares of demonic bat's wings. Part of him thirsted for the flight they'd endow, yet the   
rest of him was repulsed by the reinforcement of his demonic looks.   
_I just want to fly..._ Automatically, his hands, feet or tail would catch the next bar and send him   
spinning off in another direction. _Please, God, I just want to fly._  
~  
Kurt traveled easily to the highest beam, then launched himself into free-fall. This lasted for all of   
twenty feet before he reached the bottom of the rig and was forced to either grab another bar or   
become furry pancake.   
He chose the former.   
"What's up?" Jean, heretofore unnoticed, watched him leaping back and forth.   
"Jean!"   
{Bamf} and he'd captured her shoulders.   
"Kurt?" she drew back, almost fearfully.   
"Make me fly," his desperate eyes stared into hers.   
"What? Why?" the telepath reached up and grabbed his elbows. "Kurt, you're hurting me."   
"I need this," he did not loosen his grip. "Help me."   
"Kurt, no," Jean pushed him away. "I can't."   
Kurt's hands grasped at air, and then he teleported away.   
  
Kitty was out enjoying the weather when a wordless cry ripped through the air.   
Something, or someone, threw itself off the roof and, flailing wildly, plummeted earthwards.   
There was a great splash as it met the duckpond.   
"Ohmygosh," Kitty took off at a run. "Ohmygosh, ohmy - aagh!"   
A dark shape crawled up onto the bank, coughing.   
"*Kurt*?!" Kitty dropped onto the wet grass beside him, mindless of her new pants. "What   
happened?"   
He grinned up at her, water dripping slowly from his chin. "I'm learning to fly."  
~  
"You're trying to *what*?"   
"Fly," Kurt replied, absently removing a piece of pondweed from where it had caught behind his ear.   
For a moment Kitty just looked at him, as if gauging whether this was another one of his famous   
practical jokes. Kurt ignored her stare, contenting himself with brushing bits of algae out from   
between his toes.   
"Are you trying out some, like, new invention of Forge's?" she asked at last, peering around him to   
see if any mechanical contraption was strapped to his back a la James Bond.   
"Nein," Kurt sighed. "Nothing so manmade."   
Again, Kitty was confused. "Kurt, you're like, not making any sense," she admonished, folding her   
arms. "If it's not some experiment, then, like, what *were* you thinking, jumping off the roof like   
that?"   
"I told you," Kurt answered blithely, "Learning to fly."   
"It may have, like, escaped your attention, but like, you can't."   
"Danke for your words of wisdom, Katzchen. I'd noticed." He knuckled out of the mud surrounding   
the lip of the pond, shaking each hand and foot in turn to rid it of the coagulated and downright   
smelly substance. "That's the problem."   
Kitty blinked. "I don't follow you."   
Kurt sighed and waved a dirty hand at her. "It doesn't matter. Just leave it." He sounded   
despondant, and Kitty's eyebrows knitted together in sudden concern.   
"Kurt," she crouched down beside him, reaching out a hand to place on his shoulder, then thinking   
better of it when she caught a whiff of the pond-mud. "What's the matter?"   
"Nein, Katzchen," the furry mutant turned away, and with a jolt Kitty realised there were tears   
glistening in his golden eyes.   
"Kurt - "   
"I said leave it," Kurt replied sharply, standing up and pulling himself away from her. Then he   
vanished in a puff of sulphurous smoke, leaving Kitty both bemused and concerned at the side of   
the water.  
~  
Steven Reimund almost dropped his telescope. So. The whispers were true. There *were* monsters   
at the Institute. Monsters he desperately needed for the Cause.   
If he wanted to make Grand Exhalted UberGeneral in the FOH, he had to be *good*. This was why   
they'd hired him.   
He was already a bioengineering genius. And with the one they'd already captured - the mongrel   
who called himself 'Forge' - he had the technology.   
All he had to do was walk into a nest of Muties, and walk back out with a generous sampler.   
He took out his notebook and began to draw the blue demon-thing, but he was altering it. Adding   
demon's wings, horns, changing the feet to hooves, and adding talons and barbs wherever they   
would fit.   
Yes. The blue one would be his masterpiece.   
The others would be mere sketches by comparison.  
~  
While Kitty stood, dumbstruck, Kurt came hurtling through the air a second time.   
{Splash!}   
He crawled out of the water, shaking himself off as he went.   
"That's it," Kitty put aside her disgust at the mud and grabbed his shirt collar. "I'm taking you to Dr.   
McCoy."   
"Stop it, Kitty," Kurt twisted from her grip. "I'm busy."   
"You're out of your mind," she captured his wrist. "You're going to hurt yourself."   
"I don't care," he pulled against her.   
Kitty dug in her heels, dragging him towards the front door. "Ugh," she said. "You're going to drip   
mud all over the Institute."   
"I'll 'port to the bathroom when I'm done," he said.   
"You're done," Kitty said, and closed her ears to all further argument.   
  
{Squelch}   
"Kitty!"   
{Squoosh}   
"Kurt!"   
Hank McCoy looked up as his door banged open, revealing an exasperated Kitty and a very dirty   
Kurt.   
"Beast," Kitty said. "Kurt's been throwing himself off the roof."   
"I'm *flying*," the mud-thing insisted.   
"You can't fly!"   
"I'm working on it!"   
"You're being an idiot!"   
"Leave me alone!"   
"Kurt," Hank grasped the boy's other wrist before he was able to escape. "Did you sleep all right   
last night?"   
"Fine," Kurt said sourly.   
"Have you been drinking?"   
"Nein!"   
"Using any drugs?"   
"*Nein*!"   
"Why do you suddenly believe you can fly?"   
Kurt glared at the doctor and said nothing.   
"Normally I would restrain you at this point," Hank rubbed his forehead, "for your own safety.   
However, given the nature of your powers, that's rather difficult to do."   
Kurt struggled violently against the older mutant's strong grip. "Let me go!" he shouted.  
~  
"Now," said Hank, increasing his grip on Kurt *just* enough to fall marginally below the pain   
threshhold. "Do I have to drug you, or are you going to keep your flying practice strictly limited to   
the gym?"   
Kurt cowed. "I'll be good," he murmured.   
  
Outside the Institute, Steven was taking pictures, apparently of birds, but really of the security   
installations. So far, he'd found three automated guns and several hidden cameras.   
Then he found a bunch of teenager-sized footprints coming out of the undergrowth on the west side   
of the immense fence.   
He smiled. The kids had found a secret way in.   
"And a child shall lead them," he muttered, taking notes and photos.  
~  
"We have to move fast," Steven said to the assembled forces. "These mutants are very dangerous,   
and their security systems will be hard to fool. Does anyone *not* understand that?"   
The specially-chosen agents were silent.   
"We go at 0100 hours tomorrow," he continued. "Dismissed!"   
  
Kurt sat in Beast's office, idly tracing a pencil across a sheet of paper. He hadn't intended to draw   
anything in particular, but avian forms kept springing from the graphite.   
Hank was engrossed in some scientific journal, probably reading an article with lots of words that   
Kurt didn't know the meanings of. Heck, *Kitty* probably didn't know what half of them meant.   
  
At the moment, Kitty was engaged in an activity that was not at all mentally demanding. She was   
watching cartoons.   
"After him, girls!" Blossom shouted.   
Zap! Pow! Laser vision! And the weird-looking monster was destroyed. The day was saved, once   
again.   
"Why can't we fight evil like that?" Evan said, as generic townspeople cheered.   
"Cuz we ain't small, cute, and loveable," Rogue said, without looking up from her novel.   
"Well, maybe one of us is," Jean shot a meaninful glance to Jamie, "but it's his bedtime, so no   
more saving the world today."   
"Aww," the youngest member of the team pushed himself up from the floor and trudged off to his   
room.   
  
By 1:00 in the morning, all the residents of the Institute were asleep in their respective bedrooms.   
The Friends of Humanity crept in through the security-blind corner where the mutants had made   
their own secret route. To the well-trained agents, it was child's play to cross the grounds and break   
through the glass front doors.   
As the alarm sounded, they spread quickly through the mansion.   
  
Logan was awake as soon as the glass shattered. Clad only in his sleeping-boxers, he raced   
downstairs.   
Intruders. Lots of them. Before he could decide which direction to give chase in first, an ambush   
team popped up and blinded him with pepper spray.   
Something cold snapped around his neck.   
  
"You stay away from this door!" Jubilee stood, arms spread wide, glaring hot liquid death at her   
opponent.   
For her trouble, she received a powerful left-hook, a mutant restraint collar, and a rough shove.   
On the other side of the door, Jamie didn't fare much better.   
  
In Kitty's room, something rather like a bull fight was taking place.   
The FOH member charged, and she phased through them.   
This went on for quite some time, before Sam crashed through the wall, breaking Kitty's   
concentration, and giving her assailant time to snap a collar around her neck.   
  
Four agents burst into Kurt's room, jolting him out of the hazy half-sleep induced by the ringing   
alarms.   
"Surrender now or the girl gets it!" one of the intruders shouted. He dragged Rogue into view and   
pressed a knife to her throat, at a spot just below the collar that had already been forced upon her.   
They didn't give the blue demon time to weigh his options before clamping an inhibitor around his   
neck and binding his hands.   
  
Rahne was out of bed almost as fast as Logan, shifting into wolf-form as she raced into the hallway.   
Black-clad men were dragging away Amara, struggling feebly, and Ray, who looked unconscious.   
"Run away, Rahne," the Professor's voice came in her head. "Save yourself. They don't know you-"   
His thoughts were abruptly cut off as another stranger snapped a collar around his neck.   
"Get outta here, you mangy mutt," a woman dragging Evan's prone form growled.   
  
"Success," Steven said into his communicator. "We got 'em all."  
~  
The Professor's voice being cut off so abruptly in her mind disoriented Rahne for a moment, but the   
sight of a woman clad in black dragging Evan's body spurred something inside of her, and she   
sprang into action.   
The woman looked up briefly as the lycanthrope charged down the corridor, teeth bared and eyes   
blazing. She barely had enough time to raise her arm in front of her face, let alone get any form of   
weapon ready, before Rahne struck, burying her fangs into the soft flesh of her arm. The fabric was   
thin, skintight, and offered little resistance.   
The woman yelled, dropping Evan and bringing her other hand up in a fist to strike Rahne squarely   
on the jaw. For a moment the wolf-girl saw stars, but had enough wits about her to leap clear before   
the woman could take advantage of her weakness.   
She surveyed the stranger, growling, the taste of blood in her mouth. The woman cursed, trying to   
staunch the bloodflow. She eyed the mutant warily, and cast quickly about for a teammate to help   
her capture the creature.   
Rahne noted the action, but she already knew there was nobody there. Her sensitive ears had   
picked up on the scuffle in Kurt's room down the hall, so she knew that, for the moment at least,   
they were preoccupied.   
But not for long.   
The woman reached to her belt, presumably for a gun or some other such weapon. However, Rahne   
never let her get a hold of it, darting forward and ducking down to leap and land on her exposed   
chest.   
The woman went down like a sack of potatoes, hitting the floor hard with the flat of her back. A faint   
'whoosh' of air escaped her lungs, and she lay groaning at the weight of the wolf pressed down on   
her ribcage, restricting her already winded and empty lungs.   
Rahne brought her muzzle down, snarling. The woman wore a thin gauze that covered most of her   
face and hair, so that only her eyes were visible in the veritable sea of black. They stared out, green   
and wide, and Rahne's sharp sight saw something there, something that made her simultaneously   
thrill and growl more.   
She saw fear.   
"Oh God," the woman murmured, "Please don't kill me, I.... I got a kid at home. Please...."   
For a moment Rahne hesitated, stung by the helpless woman's words. Her wolf-half demanded   
more blood, and clamoured inside to allow her fangs access to the throbbing jugular laid out so   
tantalizingly before them. Yet her human-half balked at such thoughts, and she paused   
momentarily, gathering her thoughts.   
Suddenly, the woman smiled, creasing the material about her mouth. Rahne felt her uninjured arm   
shift slightly, and then all she knew was a burning pain that lanced through her side like some   
caustic acid.   
The mutant reared her head back, blinded by pain, and lost her footing, toppling off the woman's   
chest onto the carpet. Something moved inside her flesh, and there was the sensation of sliding to   
the left of her midriff.   
The woman sprang up, throwing her good arm 'round to plunge the Swiss army knife in again, but   
Rahne caught the action and, grunting in agony, rolled aside and jumped to her paws.   
She swayed for a second, bile rising in her lupine throat as her head lurched and something warm   
and sticky began running through her fur and down her left hind leg. The smell of spilled blood filled   
the air, though whether her own or the woman's was uncertain.   
Evan's prone body lay nearby, a cut on the side of his head trailing yet more blood. He was   
completetely unconscious, and with a sinking feeling Rahne realised that, even uninjured and in girl-  
form, she couldn't get him out without these... these intruders catching them. The dark-skinned boy   
already wore a black metal collar clamped around his neck.   
A sound behind her made Rahne start, and before she fully knew what she was doing, her feet had   
begun to run. Instinct overruled human thought and conscience, and her paws ate up the carpet,   
putting as much distance between her and the treacherous woman as possible.   
  
For her part, agent Sonia Malcom glared after the mutt, leveling her revolver and firing three   
consecutive shots down the hallway. Two of them missed, but the third nicked the wolf's   
hindquarters, sending a splatter of red onto a nearby display stand.   
However, it wasn't enough to slow the thing down, and it sped down the corridor, turning and   
bounding down the grand staircase as if there were wings attached to its feet.   
Agent Malcom swore under her breath. She didn't give chase, instead choosing to tend to her own   
wounds which were bleeding heavily into her uniform.   
Moments later, a voice sounded at her shoulder. "What happened? Why did you fire?"   
"One of the bastards got away," she replied in a husky baritone, much deeper than was usual for a   
woman of her build. "But don't worry, I got him."   
"You idiot!" Steven Reimund slapped her, and she held her free hand to her face. "Orders were to   
*capture* them!"   
"It was crazed!" she growled testily. "It bit me!" Her green eyes glared liquid death at the smaller   
man with his tiny frame and beaky nose. She hated Steven Reimund, and would do anything to see   
him taken down. He was a full ten years her junior, yet she had to answer to him and take his   
abuse like a naughty child. A snarl rose in her throat to mirror the damned wolf's, but she   
suppressed it. Barely.   
"Nonetheless," Steven went on, "you shouldn't have shot at it."   
"I did more than that," she replied, with a hint of pride in her voice. "I tickled its guts with this good   
and proper."   
She held out the darkened knife, which Steven regarded with something akin to distaste. Despite   
being part of the FOH hierarchy, he disliked blood, preferring to leave such matters of its   
involvement to those lower down the political scale.   
Agent Malcom scowled at him, his expression taking some of the shine from her bloody victory over   
the mutant. She sheathed the blade withut cleaning it, muttering loudly, "It won't get far. Either one   
of our boys'll pick it up, or else it'll die 'afore it reaches help. And who'd help a stinkin' mutie?" She   
gave a short, barking laugh, and even Steven found enough in him to smile at the thought of a 'mutie'   
finally meeting its end.   
  
Behind them, Kurt, Kitty, Rogue and Sam gawped with horror. They hadn't witnessed the   
occurance, but the smell of blood was heavy in the air, and Agent Malcom's words sent shivers of   
alarm coursing down their respective spines.   
"Rahne, no..." Sam murmured in his Southern accent. Kitty and Rogue huddled together, saying   
nothing but taking everything in: the blood-soaked carpet, Evan's seemingly lifeless body, the pair of   
intruders and their hideous conversation.   
For his part, Kurt could only glare at the two figures, mouthing his anger in fervent, quiet German.   
His golden eyes blazed with ire, and he struggled against his bonds, only to have a large, calloused   
hand land on his shoulder and the butt of a revolver smack him on the back of the head. He toppled   
forward to join Evan on the floor, nose pressed into the red liquid, though he didn't know it.   
  
Up ahead, Steven brought out a small, compact walkie-talkie. "Targets acquired," he said stiffly,   
assuming the role of commander once more. "Regroup to move out."   
A crackly "Roger that," came through, and Steven smiled as he repocketed the device.   
"Oh yes, target most definitely acquired."  
  
Rahne lumbered across the Institute grounds, tongue lolling and breath coming in short, painful   
gasps. Her entire underbelly was now slick with blood, and her head swam with each step.   
From a balcony somewhere on the second floor one of the cretins took a pot-shot at her, but she   
sidestepped and the bullet went wide. Whoever it was didn't try again.   
Her thoughts were fuggy, and she made for the only clear place in her mind. However, upon   
reaching the gap in the western fence she stopped, raising her snout and sniffing.   
There were scents here, alien and yet familiar. The smell of gun-oil, human sweat, and the acrid   
tang of unused pepper-spray. Scents of the intruders still inside the mansion hung about, signalling   
how they'd entered this haven for mutantkind.   
If she'd been thinking philosophically, Rahne might have considered how ironic it was that the way   
they'd all snuck out of evenings was the way they'd essentially let the enemy in. Kind of like leaving   
a gold-edged invitation to a private party where anybody could find it.   
As it was, her reaction was only fleeting, and she pressed on through the aperture and out the other   
side of the undergrowth, burrs snagging on her fur and twigs breaking as she went.   
She'd gone no more than a few hundred feet when she stopped again. Her head pounded, and her   
vision was swimming more than ever now. The pain in her side had dulled to a constant ache, but   
her limbs felt like lead and her mind was thick with nebulous mist.   
Where was she supposed to go?   
The unspoken question whirled about her cluttered mind, pressing at the sides of her skull and   
pounding as much as her racing pulse.   
Where was she headed? Who would know what to do about these... intruders, whomever they   
were?   
She couldn't go to the police, that much was certain. If the authorities rescued either Hank or Kurt   
without their inducers on, then it would be all over for the Institute. Their secret would be out, and   
there would be nowhere left to hide. Stories of mutants found out and persecuted had been reaching   
here for months now. Imagine if folk heard there was an entire *team* of mutants holed up here?   
So who did she ask for aid? Who could she turn to now?   
Forge? But he was only one person. How could *he* help them? The X-Men needed more than that.   
They needed someone to rescue them. Someone who already knew of their abilities and wouldn't   
hold it against them. Someone...  
There was really only one answer.   
Slowly, painfully, Rahne started off again, stumbling down the embankment that surrounded the   
Institute on the non-road side and trekking through the undergrowth on the back route towards town.   
There was only one place she could go for help now, and she hoped they'd be willing to give it. The   
Brotherhood weren't exactly renowned for their generosity to the X-Geeks.  
~  
The physically sound contingent of the FOH herded the captive mutants into the foyer.   
"Is everyone okay?" Scott asked, in typical leader fashion.   
"Like, no!" Kitty was bordering on hysteria. "Look at Evan!"   
"Excuse me, sorry," Beast pushed through the crowd and inspected Evan's wound. "This boy needs   
medical attention."   
"Shut up, freak," one of the men snapped.   
"I *happen* to be an MD," Beast said shortly.   
"Yeah," said another FOH member. "And I'm the Queen of England."   
"*I* am a Princess of Nova Roma!" Amara shouted. "Unhand me at once!"   
"She is," Roberto nodded. "She never lets us forget it."   
"I want to see my lawyer!" Bobby demanded.   
"Get 'em outta here," Steven gestured to the broken doors.   
  
Rahne stumbled through the dark streets, making slow progress towards the boarding house.   
Behind her, there was the sound of several trucks starting, presumably the FOH carting away her   
friends. After getting help, she'd have to track them. No rest for the weary...   
It was past 2 in the morning before she reached her destination. All the windows were dark.   
Dragging herself onto the doorstep, she lifted her head and howled.   
  
"Wuzzat?" Todd propped himself up on his elbow, staring around his dim room.   
Lance fell through the doorway, banging on the wall in hopes of finding the light-switch.   
The overhead came on, and the two boys blinked at each other.   
"Izzat Blueboy?" Tabitha passed by in the hall, rubbing her eyes.   
"Someone's at the door!" Pietro's eyes were wild. "It's 2:30 in the morning and someone's at the   
door!"   
"What's going on out here?" Mystique emerged from her room, tightening the belt of her bathrobe.   
There was a shriek from downstairs.  
~  
"Why, Freddy, I never knew," called Tabby down the stairs, apparantly fully awake now. Pietro   
seemed to be debating whether to run *toward* or *away* from all the commotion.   
"Uh, guys?" Freddy's voice floated (well, more like tromped) up to the group in the hall. "There's   
some kinda hurt dog down here?"   
"How did you get to the door so fast, yo?" Todd was hopping down the stairs to see Fred standing   
next to an open door. Lying on the concrete steps beyond was a collapsed canine. Blood was   
slowly seeping into the stoop. "Whoa! That is one hurt dog!"   
"Midnight snack," confessed Fred sheepishly. By now Mystique had descended the steps, as   
gracefully as she could, under the circumstances.   
"That's no dog," she said, stepping forward. "That's one of Xavier's mutants."   
"Rahne?!" Tabby bolted the rest of the way down the stairs and rushed to her fallen ex-comrade.   
"Oh my God, girl, are you okay?"  
Rahne let out a final whimper before passing out and morphing back into human form.   
"Yipe!" Pietro ran back up the stairs.   
"Get outta the way!" Shoving his way through the huddle of people (yes, even Mystique), Lance   
finally made it to the open doorway. Without even thinking about it, apparantly, he bent and picked   
up the fallen teenager. He turned around with her cradled in his arms. "We have to help her," he   
said, his eyes burning intensely.   
Mystique paused for a minute, folding her blue arms. If the situation had not been so dire, she would   
have made a rather amusing picture, considering she was still in her nightclothes (she was too   
distracted to morph out of them). Finally, she said, "All right. Take her to the kitchen."   
"I'll get the gauze!" Todd hopped out.   
Catching the blue woman's glare at him, Fred said haltingly, "I'll just...uh...put back this   
chicken...yeah."   
Tabby didn't volunteer her position in this matter, being too distracted by holding her friend's hand.   
Walking with Lance, she murmured words of comfort to a passed-out girl.   
Mystique slammed the door and tried to break that annoying habit she had of grinding her teeth.  
~  
When Kurt came to, he was in a small room he did not recognize. Three walls were bare,   
whitewashed. The fourth was plexiglass.   
Two men and a woman were staring in at him, making him feel naked.   
His watch was missing, his hands were untied, and there was something around his neck.   
The collar.   
He pressed himself into a corner, back to the window and tail curled underneath.   
There was blood on his face. As he couldn't feel any wounds, it had to be someone else's. Who had   
they hurt?   
  
"Hey!" Kitty banged on the window separating herself, Rogue, and Jean from the main lab. "I have   
rights, you know! It's really illegal to kidnap people and hold them against their will!"   
"Forget it, Kitty," Rogue said. "Only *human beings* have to follow laws. These guys are obviously   
exempt."   
Kitty smirked. "Y'hear that?" she shouted. "We're more human than you are!"   
  
"You will not harm these children," Xavier looked at Steven with hard eyes.   
"I'm really not interested in the children," he toyed idly with his communicator. "It's the demon I   
want."   
"He is a young man," the Professor said levelly. "He has a name. Friends. A family."   
"I really don't care," Steven dropped the device into his pocket and left the room.   
  
Scott blinked in wonder, staring out into the lab. "I can see colors," he marveled.   
"Good for you," Bobby slumped against a wall.   
"You're right," Scott put his glasses in his pocket and kneeled beside Evan, who was still   
unconscious. "It doesn't help anything."   
"Hey, don't let me spoil your fun," Bobby said. "Have as much as you want. We might be here a   
while."   
"Don't think like that," Scott admonished. "We gotta make a plan."   
"Hello? We're in a cage here. They're staring at us like we're lab rats. We can't use our powers.   
What kind of *plan* did you have in mind?"   
"You wait."   
  
"Hey Chuck," Logan said in a low voice. "You know these things don't stop physical mutations,   
right?"   
"I am aware," Xavier replied. "Let's save that thought for later, shall we?"  
~  
"Bring in the other mutie," Steven ordered.   
A minor lackey went and fetched the remote control, and perforce, the mutie mongrel.   
"Forge?" whispered the demon.   
"We have your protectors, demon, we have your mutie friends. Apparently, the threat to his parents   
wasn't enough for him to make a working machine." Steven made himself comfortable and idly   
started doodling studies of the others. Yes, the big one could be made to be even more animalistic.   
The question was, ape, or cat? _Hmmm... people like both. Maybe if I go with 'Troll'..._ "Perhaps a   
threat to his friends would be more than adequate." He put down the sketchbook and drew his gun,   
then took aim at the demon.   
"NO!"   
"If I recall our notes correctly," said Steven, "that is the creature that aided your escape from the -  
er- Middleverse, was it? The first being you actually talked to in something close to twenty years.   
Our observers report that you two are actually *friends*... Now, real friends don't like seeing their   
friends *shot*, do they, Forge?"   
Forge looked down. "I'll do it. Just - don't hurt them, okay?"   
"*Good* mutie," Steven cooed. "Start now. The sooner you're done, the sooner we'll look into   
tending your mother's wounds."   
"Wounds?" echoed Forge.   
Steven smirked. "Come now. You didn't honestly think that your insolence was going to *remain*   
unpunished, did you?"   
"Oh God..." whispered Forge.   
"*Get*... *working*." Steven recentred his aim on the demon's leg. "I can easily demonstrate her   
wounds on another subject."   
Biting back crocodile tears - Lord knew these freaks didn't feel any *real* emotion - the mongrel   
stepped up to the device and started working.   
Steven had to bite back bile at seeing the freakish omni-tool arm spring out of flesh. Freaks. The   
sooner they were all locked up, the better.   
  
The gun didn't really frighten Kurt. He'd seen too many of them in the past for another muzzle to   
make an impact any more.   
The cage, on the other hand, was more of a problem. And the collar.   
Years of encountering intolerance first-hand had given Kurt a real *thing* about collars and cages.   
And he was sinking rapidly through anger and into fear.   
_Please God. Please God. Alive and unharmed. Alive and unharmed [1]... Please. All of us. Alive   
and unharmed?_   
~  
Forge moved out of Kurt's line of sight, and soon entered the cage via a side-door the prisoner had   
somehow failed to notice.   
"You don't have a collar," he said.   
"Shh," Forge approached Kurt's corner. "I'm not useful with one."   
"What do they want from me?"   
"A super-mutant," Forge murmured. "A sort of cosmetic surgery. They're thinking along the lines of   
pointy things everywhere."   
"Get this off me," Kurt tugged ineffectually at the collar.   
Forge's eyes slid to the side. "You know he's watching us. Listen. They've got me running on   
external penalties. They won't touch you until you're broken."   
"Broken?"   
"Like a horse. The cowards can't have their evil demon running amok. Very bad PR."   
"The others?"   
"Should be okay for a while," Forge morphed his arm into a syringe, lifted Kurt's arm, and jabbed a   
vein. "Blood sample," he explained.   
"You're going along with this?" Kurt's eyes widened in fear.   
"Look, I'm doing what I can," Forge transferred the drawn blood to a vial and corked it. "You gotta   
fight them. Don't give in." He released the arm, and it fell limply to the floor.   
"I'm hungry..."   
"They know about your metabolism," Forge said. "They're going to starve you. I can run them   
around, but I don't know for how long. I'm sorry..."   
He rose, and left.  
~  
Lance dabbed at Rahne's wounds with a dishcloth. The fabric was already stained a deep, dark red,   
and the front of his pyjamas were soaked with her blood. It smelled funny, like bad meat, and he   
resisted the urge to gag.   
Tabby stood off to the side, apparently not knowing what to do with herself as she watched her ex-  
teammate helplessly. There was so much blood. How could she possible survive losing so *much*   
blood? And how had this happened? Why had Rahne come here with her injuries, instead of going   
to the mansion?   
"What's going on?" the blonde girl muttered angrily. "What the hell is going on here?"   
Todd hopped off the kitchen unit next to her, making her jump and curse at him.   
"Hey, don't give me no lip," he replied, handing a roll of distinctly mouldy bandages to Pietro, who   
looked at them with disdain. "It's *your* friend we're helpin', yo."   
"She's not my friend," Tabby countered hotly, then let her voice drop to a low whisper. "At least, not   
any more."   
Freddy roughly shouldered his way past, knocking the two smaller mutants aside. "Make way!   
Coming through!" In his hands he held something that looked rather like a shirt. Or rather, it   
would've looked like a shirt, if it weren't for the huge tent-like size of it.   
"Wuzzat, yo?"   
The rotund boy grabbed at the bandages and threw them into the lift-top trashcan in the corner.   
"Bandages," he said simply. "She needs clean bandages, or she'll get an infection."   
"But that's your favourite shirt, yo."   
"So?"  
Todd shrugged, and hopped to the other side of the table they'd cleared for the fallen X-Geek.   
Lance looked up briefly from his task. "How'd you know about that stuff, Freddy? Clean bandages   
and everything."   
"We studied it in first aid at camp," Freddy answered blankly. "Don't you remember?"   
"Oh... yeah..." Lance remembered having a glaring match with Summers through some meeting like   
that, but as for what was actually being said... well, it was just a good thing Freddy had been   
listening. "I never knew you cared enough about that kinda thing, Blob."   
"Meh," Fred heaved his massive shoulders and started to systematically shred the fabric of his best   
shirt into long strips.   
Rahne coughed, sending spatters of blood into the air and onto Lance's face as he leaned over her.   
Tabby rushed to her side, ignoring the curious glances Todd and Pietro shared at the action.   
"Rahne? Hey, Rahne? Can you hear me?"   
The wolf-girl coughed again, and her eyelids flickered. "Got to... get help..." she murmured, not fully   
awake.   
"Rahne? What *happened*? Who did this to you?"   
For a moment, there was silence. Then, like a rocket, Rahne shot upright, eyes wide and staring at   
nothing.   
And she screamed.   
The Brotherhood covered their ears, and Todd even went so far as to escape out of the room, taking   
cover behind their battered sofa.   
"What'sthematterwithher? Wha'tsthematterwithher? What'sthematterwithher?   
What'sthematterwithher? What'sthematterwithher? What'sthematterwithher?" Pietro asked   
frantically, running around in panicked circles until Fred finally grabbed hold of him and tucked his   
teammate under one massive arm.   
"Rahne?" Tabby called, reaching out for the younger girl's hand. "Rahne? *Rahne*!"   
Abruptly, the anguished screams stopped, and, shaking, Rahne turned wide eyes upon her once-  
comrade. "T-Tabby?"   
A wave of relief washed through the blonde, and she smiled. "Yeah, it's me. Listen, kid, you're at   
the boarding house. We found you out on the stoop. What's going on? Rahne, who did this to you?"   
Rahne raised a bloodied hand to her forehead. "Intruders," she said weakly. "Intruders... in the   
Institute. They... they caught us... got through the gap in the fence. Put collars on the others... I...   
the Professor, he tried to warn me... but-but they got him too... they got *everyone*. I tried to fight   
but... but I ran. God help me, I ran when they needed me the most." A huge tear tracked down her   
cheek, leaving a pinkish river in its wake.   
"Who?" The voice sounded from the doorway, and those still left in the kitchen looked up to see   
Mystique standing there, arms folded. She'd apparently recollected her wits enough to morph into   
her usual, impractical white costume. She stalked into the room, and bent forward to stare Rahne   
straight in the eye. "Who took the X-Men?"   
Rahne blinked for a second, then: "I-I don't know. They were all in black... no ID..."   
"Was there a symbol?" Mystique persisted, "A logo they wore? Anything?"   
"No... no logo..." Rahne clutched at her head, swaying slightly. "No... logo..."   
"Damn!" The blue-skinned woman smacked the kitchen table, hard. She turned to go.   
"Wait!"   
"What?" Golden eyes fixed on the injured teen, eying her warily. "What is it? Do you remember   
something? Speak, girl!"   
"I-I remem... remember, letters," Rahne said cryptically, eliciting a puzzled expression.   
"Letters? What letters?"   
"On the truck... it went past me... hid.... bushes..."   
"*What* letters?"   
"F... O..." Rahne swayed for one last time, "H..." it slipped out of her mouth, forced by sheer will.   
Then, able to give no more, the X-girl toppled forward, almost falling off the table until Lance jutted   
out an arm and caught her. He jolted her chest, and a spurt of red hacked out onto the floor with a   
wet splat.   
Tabby looked down at her blood-flecked slippers, and then up at Mystique. The older woman's   
expression was one to behold, and it was one that none of the Brotherhood had ever seen on her   
face before.   
Mystique was frightened.   
"Jesus," she whispered, hanging onto the counter to steady herself. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph."   
"What?" Lance demanded. "What does it mean?"   
"I thought that we could join with whomever did this to Xavier," Mystique went on, ostensibly not   
having heard him. "But not them. I thought they'd stayed in the big cities, where there were more   
cases. More newspaper reports. More media coverage. They were so few before. How could they   
have become competent enough to trap the *X-Men*?"   
  
"How could *who* get the X-geeks?" Pietro struggled from Fred's grip, and darted forward to press   
his face into Mystique's the way only he could. "What does 'FOH' stand for, lady?"   
Mystique simply gazed bleakly at him, expression fathomless save for the dread brewing deep in   
her pupil-less eyes. It was enough to make a knot of fear appear in each of their respective   
stomachs, and Tabby found herself shivering as three short words breezed over her superior's lips.   
"Friends of Humanity."  
~  
"Guh?" Evan stirred on the concrete floor. "Whuh happened?"   
"We got kidnapped," Bobby said sourly.   
"Is this mine?" he asked, staring at the dry blood he'd wiped off his forehead.   
"Someone got you with a gun," Scott said. "Be glad it wasn't the other end."   
"Yeah, look how happy I am," Evan managed to reach a sitting position. "Where's everybody?"   
"In the other rooms, I think," Scott glanced at the sidewall as if he would suddenly be able to see   
through it.   
"What happened to your glasses?" Evan demanded, noticing their absence from his teammate's   
face.   
"Don't need them," Scott felt his pocket. "Restraint collar."   
Evan's hand flew to his neck. "Can I go back to being unconscious now?" he groaned.   
"I can arrange that," Bobby grinned.   
Scott gave him a Look, and was suddenly excited by the idea that someone was getting the full   
effect.   
  
"Wonder what they'd do if I slashed the glass and jumped 'em," Logan mused.   
"I think they would shoot you," the Professor said.  
~  
Jubilee sniffled, and hugged her knees tight. The metal wall was cold against her back, but it was   
better than sitting in the middle of the room where *they* could gawp at her. In her current   
predicament, she took a tiny amount of pleasure at making the lab-coated man at the window crane   
his neck to see and make notes on her.   
Next to her, Amara was tugging ferociously on her collar. The skin beneath had turned an angry red,   
yet the collar itself showed no signs of weakening.   
Ororo sat across the room, nightdress pulled taut around her hunched legs. "Don't bother," she   
advised softly.   
Amara glared at the Egyptian. "And why not?" she demanded hotly.   
"Because they'll most likely hurt you if you carry on like that." Ororo pointed to a small contraption,   
not unlike a video camera high up in each corner of the stark chamber. "See those rods attatched to   
the ends? They're shock devices. All they have to do is push a button out there," she indicated out   
of the plexiglass, "and the signal gets transferred by those things to activate these glorified   
necklaces." She didn't need to explain what would happen after they were activated.   
Amara glowered at the dark-skinned woman for a moment, then grunted and ceased yanking on the   
metal ring looped about her throat.   
Jubilee said nothing, but bent her head and began to cry quietly into her lap.   
Ororo saw her shoulders quaking, and rose to walk the length of the room - ignoring how the man on   
the other side of the glass peered disconcertingly at her and scribbled something furiously on his   
notepad - and knelt down beside the younger girl. Showing her more maternal side, the unorthodox   
teacher reached out a comforting hand and began to stroke Jubilee's hair, still matted and snarled   
from her broken sleep.   
Wordlessly, Jubilee raised her head. Tears tracked down her tanned cheeks, and she fell forward   
into the weather witch's warm embrace and sobbed as though her heart would break.   
"Shh, shh," Ororo whispered, as gently as she could considering her own frayed nerves. "It will be   
all right, my child. We shall prevail."   
Amara risked a glance at her cellmates and wrinkled her lip in distaste. "You say that now," she   
challenged, "but what about later? You heard what they said. 'Experimentation'. That was the word   
they used, wasn't it? That's what we're here for."   
"You're not helping," Ororo replied, keeping her tone soft but adding a hard edge that betrayed her   
irritation.   
Amara turned away and grumbled to herself. "If I still had my powers, this wouldn't be happening - "   
"It's precisely *because* of our abilities that this *is* happening," her teacher cut in. Then she   
sighed. "Amara, please.... just *try* to hold your tongue for once."  
Amara just 'humph'ed and turned so that her entire back was exposed to the embraced duo. Ororo   
watched her for a moment, and then returned her attentions to Jubilee.   
Had either of them been able to see the princess' face, they would've seen a teardrop trickle down   
her own cheek at that moment. But Amara was too proud to ask for help or comfort from them -   
from anyone - and so she stayed separate from her companions. Isolated. Alone. She shivered, the   
metal freezing to her bare skin.   
Behind the glass, their white-coated observer continued to make notes, emotionless against their   
pain and fear.   
After all, they were only mutants.  
~  
"I'm scared," Jamie whimpered.   
"Baby," Ray said.   
"Give him a break," Sam scooted over to sit next to the younger boy. "We *were* just abducted   
from our home in the middle of the night."   
In the corner, Roberto snored gently.   
"How the he-"   
"No cussin' around the kid!"   
"How the *heck*," Ray glared at Sam, "is he *sleeping*?"   
"He's Roberto," the country boy shrugged. "You ask him for a glass of water and he'd probably go   
fuse the atoms himself."   
  
In another room, Kurt was afraid to sleep. Apparently there had been a shift change, because there   
was now a different scientist outside his window.   
He was cold.   
"Hey," he said loudly. "Can you hear me?"   
The man leaned on the control panel. "What do you want, mutie?"   
"Nothing," Kurt said after a pause. He would take nothing from these people, and owe them nothing   
in return.   
The man lifted his styrofoam cup and drank.   
Kurt leaned his head against the wall and tried to think of something other than bodily necessities.   
  
"Friends of Humanity?" Todd blinked. "Izzat bad?"   
"Being that the implication is 'Enemies of Mutants', yes," Mystique said. "Very bad."   
"Bad like the X-Men, bad?" Fred asked.   
Mystique shook her head. "Worse."   
Lance noticed that he was still holding Rahne, and lay her back across the table. "So we've finally   
got the run of the town?" he asked. "X-geeks are out of the picture?"   
The shapeshifter sighed. "To use Fred's phraseology, the Friends of Humanity are bad like I would   
not wish on my worst enemy, bad. There comes a time when enemies must come together against   
a common foe."   
"So you're saying we have to rescue them?" Pietro said. "I don't get it."   
"And that," Mystique recovered her usual air of anger and superiority, "is why you are not in charge   
here."  
~  
"Nearly done," said the Mongrel, almost lost in a tangle of wiring.   
"You've been 'nearly done' for twelve hours," sneered Steven. "*You*!" he snapped his fingers at the   
underling set to watch while he rested. "Have you walked the specimens?"   
"Walked, sir?"   
"Yes, taken them for a walk."   
The underling blinked. "Um. Walk where, sir?"   
"Must I spell it out? They are *creatures*, Lieutenant! Creatures eat, breathe, sleep - and   
*defecate*!"   
"*Ooooh*. Right. Walked. Nosir. I received no such orders, sir."   
_Idiots..._ "Walk the specimens *now*, Lieutenant. I'll take *personal* care of our prize specimen."   
  
Kurt heard every word, and instinctively cornered himself in the furthest corner from the hidden door.   
The Fiend tisked at him. "Now, now," he cooed, as if to a scared pet. "There's no need for that. You   
lose your value to us if you're damaged. I need you whole and alive - for the moment."   
Kurt tried to climb the wall, and found that the famous grip he'd had all his life - suddenly didn't work   
any more. _Scheisse..._   
"Your *friends*, on the other hand..."   
"What do you want?" Kurt asked, giving up on trying to struggle.   
"It's more what I *don't* want for the moment," the Fiend admitted. "And what I *don't* want is a   
nasty, smelly mess on the floor."   
Kurt blushed.   
"I'm guessing you don't want that, either, given your prediliction towards cleanliness."   
Kurt slouched forward, arms raised for cuffs and eyes closed.   
{snap}   
That sound didn't come from his wrist. Kurt opened his eyes to discover a leash attached to his   
collar. The Fiend was holding the other end.   
"Co-operate, and they won't be harmed." The man in the FOH uniform smiled like a knife. "Heel."   
  
{Taptaptaptaptap}   
"Like, *hello*? We'd like to know where the bathrooms are?" Kitty tapped on the glass again. "Hey.   
Can anyone like, hear us out there? I'm totally bust--" Her jaw dropped and her voice died.   
Their leader - someone Kitty had personally nicknamed General Slime - was leading Kurt past all   
the other prisoners.   
On all fours.   
On a *leash*.   
"Oh mah God..." whispered Rogue.   
His personal nightmare.   
He looked about as happy to be living it as the others were, watching it.   
Kitty started punching and kicking at the clear front of their cage.   
"YOU F*CKING *BASTARDS*," She screamed. "MONSTERS! HOW *DARE* YOU! I KNOW WHAT   
YOU LIKE! YOU LIKE TO [2]--" The rest of Kitty's diatribe made *Ray* blush.   
Rogue didn't know she even *knew* such words, let alone what they meant or how to use them in   
context. Her face went bright red.   
The FOH were completely unaffected.   
  
Kurt breathed a sigh of relief. A little-known fact about four-walking - one that he was less than   
inclined to share with *anyone* - was that it put an enormous pressure on the bladder. He shut his   
eyes and pretended there wasn't a leash and a madman in his immediate vicinity.   
"I know what you want," said the madman, spoiling the effect of Kurt's imagination.   
"Besides peace and privacy?" said Kurt.   
The Fiend sighed. "Those collars are designed to deliver a shock at the press of a button. Don't   
make me press the button, mutie. Not only will *you* suffer, but all your friends will as well."   
Kurt shut his mouth with a pointed and audible click.   
"I know what you want," the Fiend said, reading his script from the top, "more than anything in the   
world. I can give them to you."   
"My soul is not for sale."   
The Fiend laughed. "You don't have one anyway, mutie. No. All you have to do is convince your little   
mongrel friend - what was he calling himself? Ah. 'Forge'. Tell your friend 'Forge' to stop   
procrastinating with the machine - convince him you have a plan if you must - and I'll give you the   
wings you so sorely desire."   
Wings. Knowing him, they'd be stunted, ugly things that were no use and less of an ornament.   
Still... "Would they work?"   
"What use would they be to us if they didn't? Of *course* they'll work. You could *fly*. Soar like -   
like anything you want."   
_I want breakfast..._ he thought, but the idea of flight under his own power struck a deeper, different   
hunger in him.   
"You don't have to answer now, of course. I'll let you think about it. *Wings*. Working wings, all of   
your very own."   
Kurt made a point of finishing and washing, keeping his face blank. Opa had told him about the   
deals devils made. Co-operate, tell them what they want - and you get to live. Just a little longer   
than the camp-mates you betrayed.   
"Heel," the Fiend commanded again, tugging on the leash.   
Kurt went back to all fours and let the man take him wherever he wanted to go. _You can burn me,   
cut me, pickle me, put numbers on my arm and do what you will to me, but I'm not yours and never   
will be. Sooner or later, you'll slip. And when you slip, I'll be there to make sure you *fall*._   
But, deeper in his heart, part of him was whispering, _Wings, Kurti. *Wings*. Working, flying wings!   
You could *fly*! Really fly... And what's so bad about a deal with a devil? After all, *God* didn't give   
them to you..._   
Kurt curled up on himself the minute he was thrown back in his cell. He was hungry and tired and   
lost and cold and -- he still yearned to fly.   
God help him, he *wanted* to fly...   
At any cost.   
~  
The scientist viewing Jubilee, Amara and Ororo jerked his head up as the door clanged open. Metal   
reverberated against metal, and the noise echoed away over a few seconds as a sharp-footed figure   
strode into the room.   
The young man half stood up, turning in his seat. "What do you - "   
"Here." The newcomer, a woman, jabbed a handful of papers into his arms. "Fill these in."   
He looked down at the sheets covered in tiny boxes, obviously designed for ticks and crosses to   
deliberate how each mutant was coping without its abilities. A frown creased his brow, and he   
looked back at her. "Who said - "   
"Upstairs," she pre-empted his question and jerked a thumb. "*Reimund* says so." Her voice was   
filled with derision, and a sharpness entered the scientist's gaze.   
"What're *you* going to do in the meantime?"   
"*I* have to... to *walk* some of the freaks!" Her lip curled in disgust, as if even getting closer than   
behind plexiglass was too much for her digestive system to take.   
"These three?"   
"No. Next door. I was just loaded up with that paperwork because I was going this way. Be sure to   
fill it out. *Reimund* wants it ASAP."   
She turned on her heel to go out, but paused long enough to sneer at the trio contained within.   
"Filthy mutants."   
  
Ororo looked up, Jubilee's now-sleeping head positioned on her lap. She fixed the FOH woman with   
a bleak stare, which the female returned with nothing but contempt. For a few moments their gazes   
met, blue against green. Neither said a word - there was no need.   
Then the FOH woman broke off and walked stoically out of the door, slamming it shut behind her.   
The scientist returned to his seat, leafing through the charts he now had to fill in and glancing at a   
screen embedded into the wall showing readouts of lifesigns retrieved from sensors in the collars.   
Flicking out a pen, he began to tick and cross methodically.   
Ororo stared at the door out of the observation room. If nothing else, she would remember that   
woman's face, and when the day came - as it inevitably would some day - that she died, she'd find a   
very angry weather witch waiting for her in the afterlife.  
~  
Kitty cussed some more as she hopped from one foot to the other. "Hel-*lo*!" she banged on the   
glass again. "I need to meet John! Use the powder room! Take a leak! Visit the necessary! Where   
the-" Rogue flinched "-is the euphemism?"   
The hidden door opened silently. "You," the uniformed man pointed to Jean. "Come defecate."   
Jean stood and began to cross the room, but Rogue darted in front of her. "You're not taking her   
anywhere alone," the Southerner said.   
"Stand aside, mutie," the man ordered.   
Rogue glared at him and continued to block Jean's passage.   
Calmly, the man lifted a small remote control and pressed a button. Rogue spasmed, squeaked,   
and fell to the floor.   
The man met Jean's steady gaze and jerked his head towards the hallway. "Move."   
The door slammed behind them.   
"Rogue!" Kitty skidded across the floor on her knees. "Are you okay?" She gently shook the other   
girl's shoulder. "Mygosh, I can, like, *touch* you." She ran her fingers across Rogue's cheek.   
"Come on, wake up..."   
  
Steven returned to his office and marked the details of the creature's excrement on a chart.   
A woman strode into one of the holding rooms, where several of the male freaks were being held.   
Her pace did not slow as she threw open the door to the holding cell.   
"Small one," she said with an air of disgust. "I've been sent to walk you."   
"Me?" Jamie looked up from where he'd been huddled in Sam's lap. "I get to go outside?"   
The woman sniffed. "I can't fathom why, but management says you get a toilet."   
"A toilet?" Jamie blinked in confusion.   
"Get up!" the woman roared.   
Sam pushed him up, and the young mutant trotted to the scary lady. She removed a rubber glove   
from her pocket, donned it, and took a firm grip on his wrist.   
The door closed and locked behind them.   
Ray watched them proceed across the room on the other side of the window.   
  
"Kurt?" Forge crept around the hidden door. "You awake?"   
"Mm."   
"They want you for some tests."   
"'M not an experiment," the furry one mumbled.   
"Easy tests," Forge said. "A treadmill or something."   
"I can't, anyway," Kurt came partly out of his huddle. "Too hungry."   
Forge sighed. "Okay. Let me see about that."   
  
"I am *so* bored," Evan sighed, pacing around the small room.   
"I thought you were going to sleep some more," Scott said.   
"Can't."   
"I'd say it's a school night, but that probably doesn't mean too much right now."   
"Yeah!" Bobby said enthusiastically. "I knew there had to be an up-side to this!"   
"I'm going to miss a physics test," Scott worried.   
"I'm going to miss...uh...hmmm," Evan assumed a position of deep thought. "Gee, I can't think of a   
single thing I'd want to be at school for."   
  
"Got it," Forge re-entered the room, bearing a tray of standard breakfast items.   
"I don't want their food," Kurt said stubbornly.   
"You gotta eat something," Forge pulled out a hidden shelf in the wall and put down the tray.   
"I'm on a hunger strike," the prisoner announced.   
"Don't be stupid," Forge said tiredly.   
Kurt 'humph'ed and turned his face to the corner.   
  
"I need to see you in my office," Steven said, entering the cell of the older teenage males.   
Scott raised a finger to his lips and indicated the youngest boy, who had apparently fallen asleep.   
Steven beckoned the other two, who rose and followed him.   
"Your friend has just declared a hunger strike," he said when they reached the office. "Surely you   
know that isn't good for him."   
"Don't call me Shirley," Evan snapped.   
Scott peered into the surveillance screen on the desk.   
"You can see he's refused breakfast," Steven said.   
"We didn't even get any," Scott said.   
"Yes," Steven feigned regretfulness. "I'm afraid I can't allow him to starve himself into   
unconsciousness, or worse..." He left the possibilities to the imagination.   
"What's your point?" Scott asked guardedly.   
"I was hoping for your cooperation there," Steven said. "Would you advise your friend that none of   
you will be fed until he eats?"  
~  
Bobby started as the door to his room opened. His head had been nodding into his chest, but as it   
jerked up again he caught it on the metal wall behind him.   
"Yow!"   
"Mutant," said a voice from the doorway, "Come defecate."   
Bobby only blinked.   
"Mutant," the voice said again, slightly sharper this time, "I said come and defecate."   
"I-I don't know what you mean," stuttered the nervous boy. He wished he had a cellmate to translate   
for him. As it was, he'd awoken with nobody around besides himself and the creepy scientist on the   
other side of the glass.   
There was an irritated sigh, and the figure framed in the aperture stalked forward.   
When closer, Bobby could see that it was a woman, about 5'10'', with blonde hair speared into a   
bun on the crown of her head and startling green eyes. She leaned forward, but not too far. After all,   
you never knew what you might *catch* off a filthy mutant.   
"Def - a - cate," she sarcasmed slowly, "It means, you can now go and empty your bowels."   
"Oh." *That* he understood.   
Bobby scrambled to his feet, pulling up the waistband on his pyjama bottoms. They were old and   
worn, and he'd been meaning to throw them in the trash for a while now; but they were also the set   
he'd brought from home, and the desire to have new clothes had been dwarfed somewhat by the   
need to cling onto something comforting and familiar during his stay at the Institute.   
The woman watched him for a moment, then said simply, "Come."   
He followed her out of the room, through the horrible near-invisible door and past the creepy guy,   
still sitting in his chair swigging cold coffee and eying the young boy disconcertingly.   
The FOH agent led him to the door out onto the corridor, but stopped at the last second.   
"Understand this," she said, "do not try to escape or do anything stupid. One touch of this button   
and you hurt." She held up something that could've been a TV remote. "Got that?"   
Bobby nodded, crossing one leg over the other in the most obvious pose he could to signal that if   
they were going to go, they had to go *soon*.   
With a sigh, the woman led him out the door and down the metal hallway. Doors dotted the wall on   
either side, some of them open, and through which Bobby espied various members of his team   
contained within plexiglass prisons much like the one he'd been granted a temporary reprieve from.   
The woman kept her green eyes fixed ahead, not bothering to look at any of the captives. They were   
only mutants, and thus, beneath her notice.   
Soon they arrived at a door marked with the customary stick-man sign that signified a bathroom.   
She gestured, and Bobby passed her to go through the door. He was most upset, however, when   
she did likewise, following him in.   
"Hey, this is the men's room."   
"Exactly," she replied, deadpan. "Men, as in human men, not mutants like you. I've been assigned   
to watch you at all times, filth, until you're back in your cell. Now get on with it, or you'll go back   
before you've finished with your... business."   
Bobby opened his mouth again as if to argue, but thought better of it and shut up long enough to   
step up to a urinal. He tried to think of something else as the agent's eyes bored into his back, but   
somehow rational thought escaped him. The fact that there was a mirror on the wall surrounding the   
room didn't help matters. There was nowhere he could look that she wasn't watching him, hate   
smouldering in her eyes.   
"Why do you hate me?"   
The question caught her off guard. "Shut up, mutant."   
"Is that why you did this? Because I'm a mutant?" Bobby blinked innocently at her reflection.   
She curled her lip at him. "Amongst other things, yes."   
"Oh." There was silence for a moment. Then: "I didn't ask to be one, you know."   
"Be quiet."   
More silence. "Why do you hate mutants so much?"   
She ground her teeth. "What part of 'be quiet' don't you understand, Mutie?"   
"But why?" he persisted. "Why are we so bad?"   
"Because you're dangerous," she replied, in an effort to silence him. Of course, a quick slap or   
smack with the butt of her revolver would probably be faster, but that would involve having to drag   
him back to his cell, and the thought of voluntarily *touching* one of those things was enough to   
make her stomach turn in disgust.   
"I'm dangerous?" he sounded like the thought hadn't ever occurred to him before. "But how? I'm just   
a kid."   
"You're a freak. Freaks are just mistakes that have to be rectified. Something we of the Friends of   
Humanity pride ourselves in doing."   
"Friends of Humanity? Is that who you are?" Bobby squinted at her. "You aren't acting very friendly."   
"You aren't humanity," she countered.   
"Oh," he bit his lip. "I always thought I was. In school, they said everyone was equal, whatever their   
race, religion or colour, because we were all a member of humanity."   
"Things change. The world didn't know about muants when your teacher told you that. Are you done   
yet?"   
"Here, yes." Bobby turned and pointed into a cubicle. "But i have to - "   
"Go," she replied, "But be quick about it. And no funny stuff."   
He pattered in and locked the door behind him.   
The woman stood, back against the wall, foot tapping the ground irritably. After a moment she   
reached into her pocket and drew out a packet of cigarettes. Retrieving a lighter from the other side,   
she lit up and inhaled deeply.   
She was halfway down the stick when the sound of a toilet flushing filled the air, and Bobby finally   
emerged. He went to the sink.   
"They're bad for you, y'know."   
"Oh really?" She took a long drag and blew a ring of smoke into the air. "Spare me the lecture, kid. I   
get it enough off my own."   
"You have children?" Bobby looked at her in the surround-mirror. He was glad she'd closed her eyes   
at that moment to enjoy her cigarette, so she couldn't see the look of surprise on his face. The idea   
that any of these FOH could have families or home lives was a strange prospect, and one that threw   
an odd light on their situation.   
"A boy. Twelve. Always raggin' on his Ma for smokin' too much. Puts posters around the house from   
the doctors about lung cancer and stuff, hopin' I'll see 'em."   
"He sounds like he cares about you."   
She grunted, and slipped the white stick into her mouth again, eyes still closed.   
"How old is he?"   
"Twelve - hey!" Abruptly her eyes snapped open, and she glared at the little mutant. "I thought I told   
you to shut up, freak."   
Bobby fell quiet, but muttered beneath his breath, "I'm twelve too."   
He dried his hands, and she stubbed out her cigarette on the wall's shiny surface, dropping the still-  
wispy end into the garbage.   
Bobby trailed dutifully before the woman as she took him back to his cell. An uneasy silence   
consumed the trip, and he kept his eyes firmly glued to the floor so that he wouldn't see his friends   
and teammates locked up like lab rats in cages.   
However, he turned his head slightly at a commotion from inside one of the chambers to his left,   
just in time to see Rogue writhe in pain behind the glass, clutching at her neck before slumping   
lifelessly to the floor. Kitty bent over her, but Rogue didn't move.   
Bobby paused, inadvertantly, shocked by the sight of the goth being taken down so easily. He   
hadn't been into the field much as an X-Man, and such things were largely unknown to him. His   
eyes took on the appearance of new moons, and he sucked in a quick gasp of air.   
A guard dressed in black led Jean towards the door, but looked at the small boy with disgust and ill-  
concealed malice when he proved to be in the way where he stood.   
"Move it, Mutie," the man snarled. Bobby looked up at him with sad eyes, but the man wasn't   
impressed. He shoved the mutant hard, and Bobby went stumbling backwards to hit his head on the   
metallic wall. He let out a cry, and squeezed his eyes shut as stars exploded inside his skull.   
There was the sounds of a scuffle, and a muffled curse, and it was a strange scene that greeted him   
when he finally looked again.   
The woman agent who'd been escorting him had pinned Jean's guard with his face against the wall,   
one arm twisted painfully halfway up his back. Jean stood off to one side, slightly inside the   
doorway so that she couldn't make a break for it.   
"Leave off the kid," the female growled. "He wasn't doin' nothin'."   
The man struggled to turn his stubbly head a little, but found it impossible and so settled for   
mumbling at her; "Whassamatter? S'just a stinkin' Mutie! You goin' soft, woman?"   
She leaned in close, close enough that she could bite off his ear if she wanted. "No, but damaged   
goods ain't gonna get us any brownie points with *Reimund*."   
He loosed a noise that could've been an affirmative, and she let go of his wrist. He righted himself,   
glaring angrily at her, but she took no notice, and casually walked over to Bobby. The boy   
scrambled to his bare feet, rubbing the back of his skull but saying nothing.   
Jean shot him a comforting glance as she was led away towards the bathrooms, and he returned it   
with a sympathetic smile.   
"Come on," the FOH woman said tersely, jostling him ahead and back to his 'quarters'.   
When Bobby was safely returned to his cell, the woman turned to go. she'd followed him all the way   
into the portion of the room behind the plexiglass, apparantly checking to make sure he didn't try   
any 'funny stuff'.   
"Wait!"   
She paused. "What is it, *mutant*?"   
"I - thanks. For doing that back there." She shrugged, saying nothing. "Well, that's it, really. Just -   
thanks." He looked up at the back of her head. "My name's Bobby. What's yours?"   
"None of your business, filth," she answered, one eye on the scientist still bent over his desk.   
"Oh." He sounded dispappointed. Like Nathan did when she'd torn down yet another of his damned   
'anti-smoking' posters, or thrown another load of leaflets in the trash. She half-turned to see the   
mutie brat's downturned face.   
Bobby sniffed, evidently not realising she was still in the exit until she said.   
"Agent Sonia Malcom."   
And then, she was gone. The invisible door sealed shut, and he watched as the strange woman had   
a few ostensibly heated words with the scientist outside. Their voices were too low for him to make   
out anything but disjointed murmurings, but she poked him in the chest more than once, and then   
left in a flurry of blonde hair and flashing green eyes.   
Bobby tucked his knees under him and closed his eyes, not for the first time wishing he had   
someone with which to discuss things.  
~  
Jean was trying to cover herself with her pajama shirt while relieving herself. The man stood, bored,   
in the corner.   
The door opened, and a lady FOH entered with Jamie in tow.   
"Jean?" he looked at her questioningly.   
"Jamie!" she said in surprise. "Cover your eyes!"   
He "eep"ed and did so with his free hand.   
"Sorry," the woman said to the other FOH. "Didn't know this one was occupied. We'll wait."   
_Do *not* spontaneously combust,_ Jean thought.  
~  
Kurt was curled up on the floor of his cell. A cell designed to hold four comfortably and eight   
uncomfortably. His back was to the see-through wall.   
"Kurt?" Scott tried, tapping the clear wall. "You awake?"   
"Awake or dead, it doesn't matter to Them."   
Evan stopped glancing at the nuts with the guns and tried to talk to Kurt. "Look, K-man. Starving   
yourself ain't gonna free us. It ain't gonna help anything. We gotta survive 'em, dude. If you die - they   
win."   
"If I live, they win."   
Scott sighed. "They aren't feeding us until after you eat," he said.   
"Don't worry," Kurt said, still unmoving. "I won't take long to die."   
Evan moaned and headbutted the wall. "Man, this is a *serious* depressive funk. The fuzzy dude's   
*determined*."   
"Kurt - *please*..." Scott leaned up against the glass. "What about Jamie? And Kitty? What about   
Jubes? As long as you're okay, maybe these people won't focus on them. Maybe - maybe we can   
convince 'em to let us go?"   
Kurt sat up, stared levelly into his friend's eyes, and said, "They won't make soap out of you."   
"Oooohhhh... shee-it," Evan punched the glass. "Goddamn it, K-man! This isn't World War II. This is   
a *hostage* situation. We're the hostages. We've gotta make sure we all survive."   
"We gotta get outta this alive," added Scott. "And that means coming up with a plan."   
"Do you *have* a plan?" asked Kurt.   
"We're - still working on the details," said Scott, fingering the collar. "Best thing we can do is try to   
keep talking to them. Make them stop thinking of us like animals."   
"Easier said than done for some," said Kurt. He sighed. "Tell Herr Arschgesicht that I'll eat when   
you're *all* given food." Then he curled back up on the floor, conserving energy whilst in a position to   
see most of the cells.  
~  
Jean was escorted back to her cell. As soon as she entered, Kitty pushed her out of the way and   
demanded to be taken to the bathroom.   
"Like, keep an eye on Rogue," she said as she was led away. "This is cruel and unusual   
punishment," Kitty said to the FOH man. "You, like, don't even have prisoner-of-war rights or   
anything. This is a hostage situation. The National Guard is gonna fry your butt."   
"You have no rights," the man said flatly.   
"Don't you know history?" Kitty gesticulated wildly. "Like, all men are created equal and all that   
junk? You can't discriminate on the basis of race, color, creed, gender, et cetera?"   
"I believe our Founding Fathers were referring exclusively to humans when they wrote that," the man   
countered.   
"So?" Kitty argued back. "Aren't mutants a race of humanity?"   
"Leading scientists say you are a different species."   
They'd reached the bathroom, and Kitty met the same situation several of her teammates had   
already gone through. "Oh, no," she said. "I am *not* using the toilet with you standing there. Don't I   
at least have a basic right to dignity?"   
"No," the man sneered.   
  
"Apparently he doesn't care about you as much as you thought," Steven said as he escorted the   
mutants back to their cell.   
Scott refrained from giving the man a rather angry piece of his mind.   
Bobby looked up as they entered. "Where were you guys?"   
"Talking to K-man," Evan found a nice patch of floor and sat down.   
"How is he?" Bobby queried.   
"Completely out of his mind," Evan replied. "Won't take breakfast."   
"He's got *breakfast*?" Bobby's eyes went wide.   
"Yeah," Scott nodded. "They say if he eats, they'll feed us, but he wants us served first."   
"What's the difference?"   
"In K-man's twisted mind, probably something really important."   
  
"Mutant-keeper," Steven said, letting himself into the adult males' cell. "You have to talk sense into   
your freak."   
"None of my students are freaks," the Professor said, "and none of them belong to me."   
"It doesn't matter," he held the door open to accomodate the wheelchair. "Come."   
Xavier looked at Logan, and didn't need telepathy to communicate the thought, _Control yourself._   
"He won't touch his breakfast," Steven explained as they moved down the passage, "even after I   
assured him that after he ate his friends would be fed. Here he is."   
The Professor rolled up to the window, but refrained from knocking in the way that children at zoos   
are apt to.   
"Kurt," he said simply. "Do what you feel is right."   
Kurt lifted his head. "Jawohl, Herr Professor," he said bravely.   
"Useless mutie," Steven grumbled, forcefully pushing the Professor's chair back to his holding cell.   
A thought occurred to him, and he lifted his communicator. "Change of plans," he said. "Tell the   
freak..."   
  
"Demon!" the scientist banged the side of his fist against the glass. "The boss says one of your   
friends can eat."   
"Which?"   
"Your choice."   
~  
One friend gets to eat. The others might not be given such an opportunity. The last thing you do is   
ever trust Them.   
Therefore, he had to choose who would benefit the most from a meal. Who would benefit *all* of   
them?   
He ignored his first instinct to feed the Professor and thought hard about it.   
Logan could do well in a fight, but he didn't need to eat as often as some with higher metabolisms.   
Scott tested high in hand-to-hand combat, as did Jean, who could telekinetically unlock all the   
collars - if she got hers off herself.   
Ororo and Hank were also hand-to-hand experts and could plausibly handle a group of armed men   
without getting shot, themselves.   
Feeding the weaker members of the group - though humanitarian and noble - was out.   
_I'm sorry, Jamie..._   
Katzchen had a surprisingly vicious side, and *was* Logan's number one student... but were his old   
feelings for her interfering with that equation? He couldn't tell.   
Logan - he kept coming back to Logan. His claws weren't part of his power. In fact, his power was   
next-to-useless, compared to all the others. Logan could get free any time he wanted.   
Kurt knew he was biding his time, waiting for the right moment. A moment when all the Fiends   
would be focusing on something else.   
Never before had he felt more like a goat [3].   
So he had to pick the next-best fighter, and the one who could help free them all.   
"Jean," he said. "Feed Jean."   
~  
Rogue was coming around, but she had a major headache.   
Kitty had returned from her bathroom excursion, blushing all over, and refused to give any details of   
the trip.   
Jean was waiting for something to happen.   
And it did, in the form of a man in a white lab coat entering the cell.   
"Red-hair," he said. "Come eat."   
Jean exchanged glances with her friends, shrugged, and stood.   
"Demon," Steven said. "Is this the friend you chose?"   
Kurt looked at Jean emotionlessly. "Yes."   
"Bring the tray," Steven ordered the scientist.   
The man left, and returned momentarily with a tray similar to the one Kurt had still not touched. He   
slid it onto the table in front of Jean.   
Jean looked at Kurt, and he gave a small nod. She accepted the offered chair, and took a small   
forkful of the eggs.   
"Is it good?" Steven hovered over her.   
Jean nodded her agreement, and drank some of the juice. Soon the tray was emptied.   
"Now you, demon," Steven said.   
"Nein."   
"That was part of our *deal*, demon," Steven said in a low, menacing voice.   
"I don't recall being told that," Kurt said.   
Steven flew into a rage, pressing himself against the glass. "You will *eat*!"   
"Nein!"   
"Kurt!" Jean said. "Eat the food."   
He stared at her for a moment. "Okay." He unfolded himself from the floor and went to the shelf.  
~  
Steven stalked into his personal office and slammed the door behind him, making the glass rattle in   
its frame. He didn't bother to turn the light on, choosing instead to lean on his desk, growling in   
frustration.   
Who did that little freak think he was? Talking back, going back on thier deal, disobeying direct   
orders.   
Steven clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to quell the rapidly-growing rage inside him. He grit   
his teeth, driving away all images of fuzzy blue mutants strapped to primed laser barrels in an effort   
to calm himself. Angry people made mistakes, and if there was *any* way he was going to progress   
in the FOH, he couldn't afford mistakes.   
"You look a little hot under the collar," said a voice from the shadows. Steven whirled 'round,   
narrowing his eyes menacingly.   
"Who's in here? Come into the light!"   
A figure detached itself from the gloom, striding forward to stand mere feet away from the irate   
leader. She smirked at him, a mocking light in her face.   
"You. This is a restricted area. Why are you here?"   
Agent Malcom dropped a handful of papers onto his desk. "I picked these up on my way back.   
Came to drop 'em off. The guy said they were urgent."   
"Why didn't you just wait outside? Or leave them here for me to find?"   
"I wanted to make sure you got them," she replied, "Apparently, you asked for them to be delivered   
hand-to-hand. Too many sticky fingers to leave files like *that* lying around." She turned to go, and   
Steven glared into her retreating back until she reached the door.   
Snarling irritably to himself, the tetchy man scooted around to face the door and sank into his seat.   
He flipped on the table lamp, adjusting it to shine a pool of yellow in front of him, and was just   
reaching for one of the stapled sheets when she spoke again.   
"He's gettin' to you, ain't he?"   
"Are you still here?"   
Agent Malcom stood in the doorway, hemmed in on all sides by the light from the outside corridor.   
Her head was half-turned, and though she tried to repress it, a sly smile split her sharp features.   
"The furry one. He's trickier than he looks. Trickier than you were countin' on, I'd wager."   
"Then that's a bet you'd lose," Steven answered with a hint of smugness to his tone.   
She arched one eyebrow. "Oh?"   
"The little freak will soon break. I'll see to that. In fact, I've already sown the seeds that will bring him   
down."   
"Doesn't seem like it to me."   
"That's why I'm higher up in rank than you, Agent. I see the big picture. You only see the small   
screen."   
Agent Malcom's expression slammed shut, and her green eyes became harsh and unreadable.   
Steven went on, taking a small amount of pleasure from rubbing her nose squarely in the dirt.   
"Everyone has a weakness, Agent. *Everyone*. The trick is to find it out, then use it to your own   
advantage. The freak will fall," he smirked. "And when he does, he'll stay down like a bird that's lost   
its feathers."   
The blonde woman stayed a moment longer, then pulled the door shut behind her, plunging the   
office into relative blackness.   
Steven watched her go, noting how her back was arched, and her head held high against his subtle   
taunts. There was no love lost between he and Sonia Malcom, and he longed for the day when he   
could move on from this menial corps and leave her to wallow in insignificance, while he ascended   
to the heights of FOH hierarchy. As it was, he had to bear her presence for now. But that didn't   
mean he had to like it.   
Picking up the papers, he leafed through the first few sheets, and then grinned horribly as his gaze   
came to rest on a diagram half-way in.   
"Like a bird that's lost its feathers, my furry friend. Like a bird," he murmured, tracing with his eyes   
Forge's neat illustration of how a set of wings would attach to the shoulder blades of an elf.  
~  
_The trouble with people, is that they need the truth to be hammered into their heads before they   
can see it,_ he reflected, creating more studies of the freaks.   
He scratched out a doodle that turned Xavier into something resembling a Talosian. People liked   
anything 'Star Trek'; what he needed was *monsters*. _Maybe if I deform those useless legs, bend   
and warp them.... Assymatrise the face, of course. Make him grotesque. He's a born voyeur   
anyway..._   
He turned a page and studied the brown-haired one with the foul mouth. The one they called 'Kitty'.   
Her power was to become a living ghost. What more fitting physical transformation than to turn her   
into something resembling a decaying zombie?   
  
Kurt watched the other cells and sucked on his spork. Personally, he'd been surprised that they'd   
given him a utensil.   
They certainly hadn't given any of the others anything to eat, yet.   
His tray had long since been emptied of the standard meal for average humans - barely a third of   
what he personally needed. They'd find out on their own that underfeeding him was just as bad as   
not feeding him at all.   
Still, that was hardly his concern.   
The hidden door slammed open. "Mutant! Come for testing!"   
Kurt remained where he was. "You haven't fed the others, yet."   
Four men with guns tried kicking him before they got the idea of dragging him away.   
They dumped him on a treadmill.   
"Urgh! It *shed* on me!"   
"They aughta give us biohazard suits... God *knows* what that freak's caught."   
"Mutant," said another voice, this time over the speaker. "Get up."   
Kurt remained as he'd been dumped. "You haven't fed the others, yet."   
The voice was impassive. "You will get up and run. In two minutes, the treadmill will start, whether   
you're running or not."   
Kurt chose not to entertain them.   
  
Steven looked up at the monitor. His prize was in testing room one, no surprises, there; they   
needed to know his metabolic rates. The *surprise* was that he wasn't running. Everything he'd   
learned about the freak led him to believe that the demon-boy was highly active and would enjoy an   
opportunity for excercise.   
He was just lying there.   
Then the treadmill started, carrying him backwards towards the wall.   
_Those fucking *idiots*!_ Steven left his office and stormed towards the testing control room. _I'm   
going to fucking *kill* them if they've damaged my prize!_  
~  
By the time Steven reached the testing room, the demon had fallen off the treadmill and was lying in   
an ungainly heap on the floor. Nobody had thought to turn off the machine yet.   
The sight of his irate boss prompted one of the men to lift the freak by the back of his shirt and set   
him on his misshapen feet. As soon as he let go, the creature crumpled back to the linoleum,   
moving only to cushion his face with his hands.   
"That's it!" Steven roared. "You're all on probation! Get out of here!" After the flunkies hustled out   
and the door slammed behind them, Steven's tone immediately gentled. "Mutant?" he said, kneeling   
beside the demon. "Are you all right?"   
"[Physically, I am in a fair amount of discomfort]," Kurt said. "[In every other way I am far stronger   
than you can imagine.]"   
Steven rocked back on his heels and smirked. "Fortunately, I prepared for this very eventuality by   
recruiting a German major." He lifted his communicator. "Send the translator to testing room one,"   
he ordered.   
  
The Brotherhood had, with the help of some coffee, managed to get into their uniforms, and were   
busy grilling Rahne for information.   
"Which way did they go?" Mystique asked.   
"I don't know," the young lycanthrope rubbed her head. "I wasn't looking."   
"How many?"   
Rahne closed her eyes. "One truck, and some unmarked cars."   
"Can you track them?" Lance asked impatiently.   
"Aye," Rahne touched her side, where Todd had patched her together using Fred's shirt, and   
winced. "Have ye got any aspirin?"   
"Aspirin, advil, tylenol, or ibuprofen?" Todd asked, throwing open a cabinet.   
"What's the difference?" Lance shoved the smaller boy out of the way and grabbed a bottle at   
random.   
Fred removed the medicine from his teammate's hand and shook out a dosage based on his   
estimate of Rahne's weight. Passing the pills to her, he picked up a relatively clean-looking glass   
and held it under the faucet.   
"Must have forgotten to pay the bill," he said sheepishly, after a moment in which water completely   
failed to come out of the tap.   
Tabitha turned big, sad eyes to Pietro.   
He glanced at the kitchen clock. "At this hour of the morning?" he tapped his foot in thought. "Fine,   
I'll go rip some Aqua Vita from the convenience story. Be right back."   
The resident speedster returned within a minute and handed a bottle of water to Rahne, declaring it   
"fresh from the freezer."   
She downed the pills quickly and slid off the table, mindful of her injury. "I'd rather not shift if I don't   
have to," she said. "Now we'd best get moving before the trail goes cold."   
  
A small man let himself into testing room one. "You called, sir?"   
Steven gestured to the mutant. "Would you ask him again how he feels?"   
The man crouched next to his superior and looked into the mutant's eyes. "Wie geht es Ihnen?" he   
asked.   
Kurt changed to HalbesPferd. "[If you can find someone who speaks *this* language, you might   
almost be worthy of talking to]," he said.   
"Well?" Steven prompted.   
"That wasn't German," the man said slowly. "Nor any other language I'm familiar with."   
"[I knew I could outsmart you any day of the week, but this is almost too easy]," Kurt kept his voice   
level, giving no clue to his meaning. "[Are you sure you're trying?]"   
Steven fought down his growing rage, deciding instead to play the friendliness card. With luck, the   
freak would develop Stockholm Syndrome and submit gladly to all their demands. "Wouldn't you   
like to run?" he said in his friendliest voice.   
"[Not really]," Kurt replied. "[I'm still hungry. And I prefer not to exercise in my pajamas.]"   
"I'm sorry," Steven offered a Duchennes smile [4]. "I can't understand you. Would you mind   
speaking English?"   
"[Would you mind if I dropped your pants in front of all your co-workers?]"   
Steven frowned. "I would like to help you," here he refrained from his usual appellations for the   
creature. "What can I do for you?"   
"[You can slam your head against a wall for three hours]," Kurt said. "[I think that would amuse   
me.]"   
"All right," Steven sighed. "Let's go back to your room, shall we?" He unhooked the leash from the   
side of the treadmill and moved toward the door.   
The demon stood up on two legs, apparently willing to follow him.   
"This way," Steven opened the door and began walking towards the freak's cell. It walked behind   
him quite agreeably.   
"[I wonder what you studied in school]," it said. "[Do American universities give degrees in torture   
techniques? No wonder you have such problems with violence in this country. I notice everyone here   
has a gun. Do you enjoy shooting innocent creatures? Killing mockingbirds?]" Here, the freak   
paused in its stride.   
"It's just through here," Steven tugged on the leash.   
The creature resumed walking and talking. "[Is it? This collar is interfering with my spatial memory.   
Not my intelligence, though. I don't want to brag, but you're kind of stupid. I really don't feel you're   
qualified to be bossing all these other people around. Oh yes, this is my 'room', as you put it. I   
suppose that's technically true. Are you leaving? Oh, what a shame. I was enjoying]-"   
The heavy door closed, shutting out the freak's suddenly endless prattle.  
~  
Kurt grinned. Nice thing about HalbesPferd. Hardly anybody spoke it except the Centaurs. If anyone   
in *this* benighted place knew it, then they were either very far gone or secretly on his side.   
Thing was, nobody on *his* side was likely to understand it either.   
He sat himself back down on his favourite spot, conserving energy and watching the others.   
"Anyone else get to eat?" he asked.   
"No. Not no-one," said Logan. "Ya might try co-operatin', Elf. See how far it gets ya."   
"Herr Logan, people like this put numbers on Opa's arm. I *know* what co-operation is going to get   
me."   
The nearest guard tapped the observation window. "Speaking English, freak?"   
"[Only to my friends]," said Kurt, talking HalbesPferd again.   
  
_Thank God we decided to use digital recorders for security,_ thought Steven. He'd made a minor   
video of his prize's latest interaction.   
"...people like this put numbers on Opa's arm," said the recording.   
Steven moved the indicator back.   
"...numbers on Opa's arm," and again, "...numbers on Opa's arm."   
Steven had an idea. He centred himself, then put on his best act ever, pretending to sneak into the   
freak's cage. "I can't *believe* them. Those *fools*!" He crouched next to the demon-boy, making a   
show of hiding himself from the security cameras. "I just got the word from Command. They want to   
*brand* you. And all of your friends... There's a debate over bar codes versus ordinary numbers, but   
it's *foolishness*! Evidence like that can be *traced*."   
The creature was watching him.   
"I stirred up the debate, but you know executive committees. If I don't get some results, soon, they   
might just go ahead with it for something to *do*. The idiots."   
"The others haven't been fed," said the demon.   
_Of all the stubborn, pig-headed, one-track-minds..._ Steven groaned. "If I clear that up," he said,   
"will you run?"   
"Can't run. Hungry."   
Steven stood, and marched out of the cage. "*Fulsom*!"   
The luckless Lieutenant jumped. "Yessir?"   
"Did I, or did I *not* leave instructions that the rest of the freaks were to be fed after the prize had   
eaten?"   
"You said that one freak was to be fed, sir. The one the Demon chose."   
Steven was never more tempted to use violence. "I gave orders, Lieutenant, that after my prize was   
fed, the *others* get fed. See to it. *NOW*!" He snatched the Demon's chart off the wall, found who   
fed him, and tracked him down. "*YOU*!"   
{Snap!} "Sir, yes sir!" The man stood to attention.   
"Can you *read*, Lowerclassman?"   
"Sir, yes, I can read, sir!"   
"Do you know what 'high metabolism' means?"   
"Sir! A high metabolism means that the individual requires more food and burns it more quickly, sir!"   
"Then explain to me precisely *why* you fed my prize freak a *standard* ration when it's clearly   
marked on his chart that he has a high metabolism."   
"Sir, yes sir! I was under orders to demoralise the freaks, sir! Starvation is a standard interrogative   
technique, sir!"   
"Whose orders?"   
"Sir, Agent Malcom gave me those orders, sir! She said they were from Command, sir!"   
"Lowerclassman, you will hear me now and understand. *I* am in charge of this project. *I* get the   
orders from Command. *I* run the show. If anyone else gives you such a command, counter to my   
charts and instructions, you are to report them immediately to me. Understood?"   
"SIR, YES SIR!"   
Steven walked calmly back to his office and pressed the public address button. "Agent Malcom,   
you are under report for undermining my authority in my project. As of this moment, you are   
personally and solely responsible for the care and maintenance of all the freaks. If I am displeased   
with your performance in this simple task, you will be demoted according to my displeasure. That is   
all."   
  
Rogue, head cushioned in someone's lap, smirked to herself and 'developed a cough' on the spot.   
With luck, the others would get a similar idea.   
  
Logan, pacing to and fro, stopped when he heard the cough. To his ears, it was as fake as a three-  
dollar bill, but the idiots with the guns wouldn't know the difference. _Clever girl,_ he thought. _That's   
the spirit. Divert 'em. Keep 'em busy._   
The idiot upstairs should never have let them know they were valuable.   
~  
Agent Malcom ground her teeth and stalked to the younger females' cage.   
"You there!" she pointed at the scientist peering boredly through the glass, "What's wrong with   
them?"   
The young man looked up at her, and then back at where Rogue, and now Kitty too, were coughing   
violently, bodies wracking with each hack. Jean was mirroring them somewhat, but the redhead   
knew that she couldn't pull off fake-sickness as well as her teammates, and so was crouching in   
the corner, letting them have centre stage.   
For a moment the man didn't answer, then he offered, "Tickle coughs?"   
"Since when do 'tickle coughs' make them act like *that*?" the blonde woman narrowed her eyes at   
him. "Have the medical shots begun already? Why wasn't I informed?"   
At this, all three girls' ears pricked up. The Fiends' voices were tinny, and echoed around the   
metallic space, but they could make out enough for their conversation to be decidedly interesting.   
And frightening.   
"No, ma'am," the scientist replied, flipping through a chart attached to the clipboard in front of him.   
"We have all the necessary blood and bodily samples from these three, but the testing isn't due to   
begin for another hour or so. The skunk-one," here he gestured at Rogue, who renewed her   
coughing fit as both man and woman looked at her, "is booked in at the lab first. I wasn't privy to   
what modifications were to be made. Just when the guards would arrive to take the subject."   
Agent Malcom pursed her lips. Evidently, this was news to her. "Damn you, Reimund," she   
muttered under her breath, so that nobody, not even the captured mutants could hear her. Then she   
asked aloud, "So *why* exactly are these three coughing?"  
"I - uh... that is, I..." Evidently, Agent Malcom's steely gaze and clipped tongue were having the   
required effect, and the young scientist stuttered a little under her belittling gaze.   
"Well?"   
"I don't know, ma'am."   
She rested her hands on either side of his chair's armrests, leaning forward to push her nose   
against his. "Well don't you think you should *find out*?!" With a shove, she sent him toppling over   
backwards.   
The man scrambled to his feet, saluting her smartly in the manner of a soldier caught off his guard.   
"Yes, ma'am. Will do, ma'am," and scuttled off to a cabinet on the far wall.   
Agent Malcom sighed through her teeth, folding her arms and surveying the captives coldly. A pair   
of eyes as green as her own met her stare, and she curled up her nose at the pale mutie freak with   
the skunk hair. Rogue glared back at her, still coughing, but not wavering her eyes.   
They were still locked this way when the scientist reappeared at his superior's side, a strange   
device in one hand that looked like a cross between a supermarket scanner and a library stamp.   
"I - uh, have to go inside to, uh..." he gestured at the door, and Agent Malcom raised her   
communicator to her lips.   
"Agents Derrel and Harrick to Cell 3. Agents Derrel and Harrick to Cell 3." She paused for a   
moment, then, "*Now*, you idiots!"   
Scarcely a minute had passed before two men loomed at the door. "Yes, ma'am?"   
"Go with him, and make sure none of these three... freaks try anything, Use force if you have to, but   
*try* not to damage them too much, or Reimund will have your heads. And then, when he's done   
with you, I'll chew you up and spit you out like yesterday's old meatloaf. Got that?"   
"Yes, ma'am!" they all echoed each other as they trailed into the plexiglass prison.   
The three girls eyed them suspiciously. Back-up wouldn't have been called unless that woman had   
something planned. Slowly, Kitty and Rogue edged away from the trio of men, joining Jean in the   
corner.   
The scientist moved forward. "Nice, muties," he said coaxingly. "Come here." He seemed nervous,   
and it was plain to see that, even with the collars on, mutants were a source of fear.   
Rogue smiled a mischievious smile, then leapt forward with a loud "BOO!" before scuttling back to   
her place.   
The scientist all but fell over backwards in shock, and was only stopped by the wide-shouldered   
Agent Derrel who stood directly behind him.   
On the other side of the glass, Agent Malcom put a hand to her temple and shook her head. "Men!"   
The young man shook off his shock and subsequent embarrassment. He regarded the three girls,   
then pointed at the smallest, and to him, least threatening one. "We'll do that one first."   
Derrel started towards Kitty, whilst Harrick moved to one side, effectively separating her from Rogue   
and Jean and holding the two older girls at bay.   
Kitty took one look at the approaching Derrel and made a dive to slip under his arm. He caught her   
easily, grabbing her shoulder and hauling her around to face the nervous scientist. She kicked and   
fought, not liking the look of the device in his hand.   
"Kitty, don't fight it," she heard Jean call out. "They'll only hurt you more if you do."   
"Yeah, listen to Red, Kitty," Rogue added her voice to the mix.   
Kitty couldn't turn to look at them, but stopped struggling at their words. She didn't much care if   
they were rough with her, but if she caused too many problems, they'd be harder on her teammates.   
she could see it in their remorseless eyes. Her body went limp in Derrel's grasp, and she allowed   
herself to be manhandled over to the younger man - although, she never quit glaring at him. If looks   
could kill, he would've been in a black box and six feet underground by now.   
Derrel held out one of her arms at a nod, and the scientist tapped a few minute buttons on the side   
of his device. It beeped into life, and Kitty found herself incongruously reminded of Star-Trek.   
_Like, all this guy needs is the pointy ears to be, like, Mr. Spock!_  
The Vulcan-lookalike peered at her exposed skin and chose a likely spot. Then he pressed one side   
of the contraption in and squeezed.   
The pain was like nothing Kitty had ever come across in her life. Her arm was on fire, and the   
flames travelled up and down relentlessly. It felt like she was being cooked from the inside out, and   
she choked back a shocked cry, unable to let it loose because she suddenly found herself lacking   
a lot of oxygen.   
The device was pulled free, but she barely had enough time to register this before the scientist   
rammed it ungently against the soft part of her throat. There was a prick, like a needle, and then the   
burning sensation transferred itself to her neck, lancing through her so that, if she hadn't been held   
so tightly, she would have convulsed and bucked violently against it.   
As it was she could do nothing until the horrible thing was removed again, and then Kitty did the   
only thing left in her power to do.   
She screamed.   
  
Along the row of cages, Kurt sprang woozily to his feet. The sounds of Kitty's agonized cries rent   
the air, and he could hear someone that sounded distinctly like Logan do the same nearby.   
Kurt threw himself against the plexiglass, unmindful of the pain this induced. He snarled, he roared,   
he clawed fruitlessly, letting out a string of curses in every language he knew.   
Including English.   
"Scheisse! Arschlock! What are you doing to her? [I'll kill you if you've hurt her!] Katzchen!   
Katzchen! [You bastards are going to pay for this!] Let her go! Let her go! You bastards!"   
  
In front of a video monitor, Steven watched him, smiling to himself. It was not a pleasant smile, and   
didn't reach his cruel eyes. _Well, well, little demon. It seems that you have more than one   
weakness, doesn't it?_  
However horrible Kitty's screams sounded from down the corridor, they were ten times worse next   
to her cell. Here, one could see the way her eyes bulged when the scanning device went in, could   
see how her chest heaved for want of breath, could see the pain and unadulterated fear in her eyes,   
blue, yet shot through with the red of broken veins. As she was sytematically checked for signs of   
internal illness, the teen made for a terrible sight.   
However hard her heart, Agent Malcom found her spine quivering in an inadvertant shiver. She   
watched as the mutant girl fell to the floor, breathless from screaming and testing combined. She   
saw that idiotic scientist move forward and repeat the process on the skunk-girl, then the redhead.   
She heard their screams, and watched them fall.   
_They're just stinkin' muties,_ she told herself. _They deserve this. They're freaks. Nothin' but a   
danger to normal folk._  
Jean let out a gurgling cry, jerking to one side as the scanning device tried to get to her throat. A   
thin smear of blood appeared on her neck. Not enough to kill her, but enough to hurt.   
_It's a *mutant*._  
Kitty lay on the floor, curled into a foetal position. The way to the door was open, but she couldn't   
move. Her breath came in short, laboured gasps, and she gagged from trying to get too much   
oxygen in at once.   
"I...I-want m-m-my... my mom-m-my," she wheezed, so quiet it was inaudible to those still holding   
Jean against the wall.   
But the speakers on the other side of the plexiglass blared it out loud and clear.   
_Mutants, they're just... just..._  
Wordlessly, Agent Malcom averted her face and stalked out of the door past the rest of the cages.   
~  
He couldn't see Katzchen's cell. No matter where he paced, he couldn't see her cell.   
Not that he didn't *try*.   
"*Katzchen*... Wo bist du?" All his plans to conserve energy went out the window when he heard   
her scream. Part of him still loved her, even though he was happily in love with Amanda. He never   
wanted her to suffer for his insolence. "...Katzchen..."   
"She's alive, Elf," said Logan. "She's in a world o' hurt, but she's alive."   
Kurt slumped, falling to the floor like a sack of bones. "...my fault," he murmured. "...all my fault."   
He was limp and unresisting when the soldiers came for him. The only voluntary movement he made   
was to look into Katzchen's cell.  
~  
They dragged him backwards, his tail trailing between his feet.   
Kitty had vomited, and no one seemed in a particular hurry to clean it up.   
"[She wasn't sick before, but she is now]," he mumbled.   
  
"Is this it?" Lance stared at the ground. It didn't look like much, because it was just pavement, and   
also because it was 3:30 in the morning and very dark.   
"This is where the truck parked," Rahne nodded.   
Mystique had taken the form of a nondescript adult female, for convenience. "Which way did they   
go?"   
"That way," Rahne indicated a direction.   
The group walked as far as the first corner, where they stopped to look around again.   
"Wish I had Kurt's eyes right about now," the Scottish girl sighed. "I'm going to have to do this all by   
smell." She knelt, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. "Left," she said. "Ach...I can't get up..."   
Todd assisted her to her feet, and they proceeded down the cross-street. At the next corner they   
stopped again and repeated the whole procedure.   
"This is ridiculous," Lance crossed his arms. "We'll never get there at this rate."   
Pietro shifted impatiently from foot to foot. "Yeah, boss-lady. Don't you at least have a guess where   
they might be hiding?"   
"I did not ask for your comments," Mystique's eyes flashed yellow. "We *will* find them."   
  
"Welcome to the main kitchen," Steven said as the soldiers positioned his prize in a chair. "Since   
your caretaker this morning was apparently unable to follow simple orders, you may serve yourself   
here until you are full."   
The freak's head lolled to one side, and he stared into space.   
"Aren't you hungry?" Steven asked.   
"Katzchen..." the demon said.   
Steven looked at the German major, who had been assigned to follow his boss until further notice.   
"A kitten," he said with obvious confusion.   
"A kitten?" Steven raised his eyebrows, and the man shrugged.   
"He must want to eat a kitten," said the scientist in the corner. For the record, he had a degree in   
animal psychology.   
"We haven't got any kittens," said one of the soldiers.   
"Well, find one!" Steven ordered.   
The two men who had brought the freak ran out.  
~  
These people were idiots. "I'm not a monster," said Kurt. "I only look that way."   
"Speaking English again?"   
"Only to stop your brutes from killing a perfectly innocent kitten," said Kurt. "That wasn't what I was   
talking about."   
The Fiend spoke into his communicator. "Edwardson, Klie, call off the kitten hunt. He's decided to   
talk."   
"Katzchen is ill," said Kurt. "She's been sick."   
The Fiend winced. "Not *a* kitten. *Kitty*. The ghost-girl."   
"Oops," said the German major.   
"...pack solidarity," said the animal psychologist.   
Kurt slumped back onto the desk. Lord, he was hungry... "The others. Won't get this treatment, will   
they?"   
The Fiend massaged his temple. "They're not as *important* as you. Nor as volatile."   
_I'll give *you* volatile._ "They still haven't eaten. And they're important to me. I'm no good to you   
dead, am I?"   
"I'm beginning to believe you'd be easier to *handle*... but yes, I'd prefer you alive. I'm sure you have   
something of a family somewhere." He waved his hand, looking for an explanation. "Collectors,   
maybe, who gave you food and shelter? I'm sure you feel close to them... and you'd want to see   
them again."   
_Ha! You know nothing about me or Heirelgart..._ "I want my friends fed."   
The Fiend sighed and reached for his communicator. "Malcom! Distribute trays to all the   
specimens. And clean up cell three! *Now*!" He snapped his fingers, and another two guards carried   
Kurt out to where he could watch everyone eat.   
"There. They're being *fed*. Now will you eat?"   
"Ja. Now I'll eat."   
They carried him back to the kitchens. Kurt had to lean on a lot of things for support, true, but he   
made himself look weaker. They had oats, which he made into a spiced oatmeal, a family recipe   
that often made innocent bystanders drool. They had eggs, bacon and pork sausages. He almost   
cleaned them out.   
His instincts demanded he curl up and rest, store energy for later flight, but he knew what was   
going to happen next.   
Pain, and lots of it.   
He was limp and unresisting as they carried him away.  
~  
"Chuck, I'm gettin' cabin fever in here."   
"Don't do anything stupid, Logan."   
"But the kids - "   
"If you make a move, they will most probably kill you. Without your healing abilities you would be an   
easy target. Remember, to them, Kurt is the most important. The rest of us are valuable, but not   
indispensible."   
Logan growled, and resisted the urge to gouge a strip out of the wall with his claws. "It ain't fair on   
'em, Chuck. They're just *children*!"   
From where he sat, Indian-style in the corner, Hank answered him. "Not according to our captors, it   
would seem. To them, we are neither young, nor old, merely 'things' to do with what they will."   
"I'll give 'em *things*!"   
"*Logan*," the Professor's voice was stern, and the gruff mutant hunkered down into an irritable   
crouch, grumbling to himself.   
"When I get outta here, that Reimund guy is gonna get his! Oh boy, am I gonna have fun with   
*him*."  
  
Kitty looked up as a Fiend entered their cell again. She shrank back, wincing as the bruises on her   
neck contracted.   
The FOH agent wrinkled his nose against the smell. The air in this cell was thick and heavy with the   
putrid scent of old vomit, a pile of which still lay on the floor at his feet.   
He made short work of cleaning it up, all the while muttering about how he "hadn't signed up to do   
this". Kitty couldn't help wondering what exactly he *had* signed up for. He wasn't much older than   
Scott, and his face, though lined with hate and malice, was younger than any of the other agents   
they'd seen so far. How could someone so young hate mutantkind so much already? But for a twist   
of fate, it could've been him here, captive and held for a crime nature had bestowed upon him   
against his will.   
She whimpered, feeling pretty sorry for herself in her weakened state. Her head lay in Jean's lap,   
and Rogue sat morosely across from them. The goth girl was closest to this cleaner Fiend, but   
stared solidly at the floor, not even raising her gaze when he passed her to clean up another pile of   
vomit in the corner, next to the other two females.   
Jean looked up at him. Her neck had ceased bleeding now, but was an open sore and hurt terribly,   
weeping down her throat and ringed by angry looking bruises. It was debatable whether she'd be   
able to talk above a whisper for a while, and she gazed soulfully up at the young man, her eyes   
doing all the talking her mouth could not.   
The Fiend only glared at her coldly, sneeringly. When he was almost finished, he turned, ready to   
clear a last mound in the opposite corner, but couldn't resist one last glare at the redhead.   
Kitty whimpered once, and, on a whim, the Fiend drew back a foot as if to kick her while she was   
down.   
However, he never got the chance.   
A pale form, eyes ringed with black that was nothing to do with make-up, launched at him from   
behind, latching onto his back and yanking him away from his intended target. The man yelled as   
arms wrapped around his throat, but Rogue simply tightened her grip.   
They never saw him reach for the alert-device in his belt, but he must have done, because a few   
minutes later, when he was struggling badly for breath, a trio of burly FOH agents burst through the   
door to his aid. They carried trays of meagre food, which they had obviously been distributing to the   
cells. As one, they pried Rogue off him, throwing her to the ground in contempt.   
Yet Rogue didn't adhere to her own advice of earlier. She didn't stay down, instead choosing to leap   
back at them, clawing and biting, for all the world a wild animal.   
Rogue, it seemed, had had enough. Her mind had already snapped, and all she could think about   
was getting back at the creatures evil enough to do this to her and her teammates. Every blow she   
received, she answered with two of her own. Every kick, she came back with a bite. At one point   
she could even be seen hanging off a Fiend's ear like a rabid dog, eyes wide and a spark of   
madness glinting in her stare.   
Jean and Kitty looked on with dismay. The telepath croaked at the goth to stop, but fell into a   
coughing fit at the effort. Kitty was more successful, managing to gasp out, "Rogue, no! They'll kill   
you!"   
However, Rogue was deaf to their voices. She snarled at their captors, revealing teeth red with blood   
- whether theirs or her own was unclear.   
It was only a few minutes later that one of the men pressed a button to activate her restraint collar,   
but it felt like an eternity. Rogue let out a short cry, and went down like the proverbial sack of   
potatoes, hitting the floor with a sickening 'thunk'. Then she lay still, lip still curled into a feral leer.   
A figure appeared at the door. "What the *hell* is going on here?"   
"A-Agent Malcom!" The cleaner Fiend and his crew snapped to attention as the blonde woman   
stalked towards them.   
She took in Rogue's limp, newly bloodied body in a single glance. "How difficult is it for you to follow   
*simple orders*? You were told to clean up this cell, were you not?"   
"Y-y-yes, ma'am."   
"So how exactly did that task turn into a free-for-all against one of the prisoners?"   
"Sh-sh-sh-"   
"Stop stuttering!"   
{Snap "She jumped me, ma'am. From behind. I couldn't get her off."   
"And that entitled you to beat the livin' sh*t out of her?"   
He dropped his gaze. "No, ma'am."   
"Having trouble, Malcom?" a voice oozed through the open doorway. Agent Malcom spun 'round.   
"Nothing I can't handle, *Reimund*," she spat.   
Steven waltzed through the door. He'd been following Kurt and his guards, but the opportunity to   
stick the boot in Malcom was just too good to pass up. He could catch the demon up easily   
enough.   
"Looks to me like you're having a few problems with your charges," he tutted. "And on your first day   
at the job, too."   
"Was there something you wanted from me?"   
_Your head on a platter._ "No, nothing except for you to *do your job*!" He poked her in the chest,   
which she received with a supressed growl and a narrowing of her eyes. "All you have to do is *take   
care* of these brutes, Malcom! How hard can *that* be?"   
"Exceedingly," she bit at him, "considering the idiots you've given me to work with!"   
"These 'idiots', as you so astutely put it, haven't done anything wrong, from what I can see."   
"Sir, they wantonly attacked this prisoner and beat her before even *trying* to use the collar. They   
could've pressed the button for it at any point, but instead they chose to do *this* to her." She   
gestured behind her to where Rogue lay, red and unconscious.   
Steven looked, and shrugged. "So what?"   
"Sir, they - "   
"I *know* what they did, Malcom. So they beat up a stinkin' mutie. So what? It probably had it   
coming to it, anyway. Filthy creature."   
Agent Malcom ground her teeth, glaring daggers at the weaselly man. "*Sir*," she sarcasmed hotly,   
"this girl - "   
"Girl?" Steven cut her off, arching one eyebrow. His voice rose a pitch, and there was a dangerous   
edge to his tone. "It's a *mutant*, Agent Malcom. To call it a 'girl' would insinuate that it is *human*.   
Do you think these... things are human?"   
The blonde woman balled her hands into fists at her sides, but lowered her eyes. "No."   
"No, what?"   
"No, *sir*."   
Steven smiled with his mouth, but not with his eyes, which remained cold and mocking. "Very   
good, Malcom. You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you felt *sympathy* for these freaks."   
"I am loyal to the cause, sir," Agent Malcom mumbled, keeping her gaze averted.   
For a moment, as Steven regarded her oddly, the tension in the cramped room was so thick you   
could cut it with a knife. Then he spoke again.   
"Nonetheless, I think some retraining is in order. Agent Malcom, though I won't demote you *yet*,   
you are hereby ordered to clean *that* up," here he pointed at Rogue, expression contorted as if he   
were referring to a mound of garbage rather than a person, "and finish up in here with a mop that   
you will fetch from the store cupboard. Is that clear?"   
"Crystal, sir."   
"Good." With a smug smile, Steven left, gesturing that the four other men in the room should follow   
him, and leaving Agent Malcom to seethe to herself and wallow in her unsavoury task.  
~  
Kurt watched impassively as the Fiends strapped him to a table. So. This was it. The torture - the   
real torture - had come at last.   
_God give me strength,_ he prayed.   
The chief Fiend marched in. "You're sure you've performed adequate testing on the others?"   
The Fiend in the lab coat cinched a strap tight around Kurt's tail. "The device works, sir. It will   
silence him without leaving a mark."   
"Yet the redhead speaks," said the Fiend. "And the other test subjects make noise. You're *certain*   
it will work?"   
"I am confident, sir."   
"Hmmm..." The Fiend considered this. "Select his tongue, then. Nobody will want to get close   
enough to inspect it."   
"That's what you think," said Kurt.   
Lab Coat stuck something in his mouth and cranked it open. "The more you resist, the worse it will   
hurt."   
"Think of it," said the Fiend, "as a lesson in co-operation."   
Lab Coat caught his tongue with a pair of plastic tongs, then lowered a device.   
  
Agent Malcom cringed, waiting for the scream. When it came, it was no sound a child would make.   
It was more like a howl from the throat of a demon. Yet, somehow, it was even more heartrending   
for being that weird...   
She wanted to be sick.   
_If my son becomes a mutie... they'll be doing that to him. He'll be an animal to them. Less than an   
animal._   
There was a kid his age in the cells. Kicking up three colours of stink and using language she'd   
cheerfully ground her boy for and then wash his mouth out with soap.   
Her thumb drifted over the omni-button. Just a little jolt, so they wouldn't get beaten later.   
"Quiet in the cells!" Malcom shouted above the din, and pushed the button.   
And in all the cells, her son clutched at the collar and screamed.   
At least they were quiet when she let go.   
Which left her to hear the howling of a demon. A demon who was just a boy.  
~  
"How far have we gone?" Lance said. "Ten blocks?"   
"We're moving too slowly," Rahne agreed. "I'm losing the trail."   
"Find it!" Mystique shouted.   
Todd quietly placed himself between his boss and his enemy.   
"This nose," Rahne tapped hers, "isn't good enough. I have to shift."   
"Go for it, wolf-girl," Pietro said.   
Rahne was glad Logan had drilled her in partial transformations. Any form that was not clearly wolf   
or human was hard to hold for long, but it was better than exacerbating her wound.   
From the neck up, Rahne was a wolf.   
Lance wrinkled his nose in disgust.   
Rahne sniffed, changed back to fully human, and led the way.   
  
Lab Coat withdrew his tools from the demon's mouth, narrowly avoiding being bitten.   
Kurt finished howling, gasped, coughed, struggled, and finally lay still.   
For a moment, nothing happened.   
Kurt then said something so vicious that it was probably just as well that his captors didn't   
understand him. It was meant to be English, but was garbled beyond all recognition.   
"Will this effect last?" Steven asked.   
"It will," Lab Coat nodded. "In time, the freak should quit trying to speak."   
Kurt growled. He screamed. Then he purred, just to see how much it would unnerve the Fiends.   
Answer: quite a bit.   
"Note that on the chart," Steven said to the psychologist. To the soldiers, he said, "Take it away."   
The men kept their guns handy as they undid the straps, but Kurt didn't care. As soon as the   
buckles were opened, he launched himself at the nearest Fiend.   
His partner, being well-trained and reasonably intelligent, immediately pressed the button on his   
belt.   
The mutie fell to the floor, the stink of singed fur rising from its neck.   
  
The scent soon reached Logan. Unfortunately, due to his collar, he completely failed to notice it. He   
only saw an unconscious Elf being dragged across the room.  
~  
Tabby shivered. She hated the cold. She didn't particularly like the dark either, but seeing her old   
teammate ignoring her wounds to get down on her hands and knees and sniff the pavement quelled   
any complaints she may have had.   
Still, she wrapped her arms about herself that little bit tighter as a sharp wind cut her cheek, and   
nestled into her collar.   
From his vantage point next to her, Pietro gave her a sidelong look.   
"You OK?" he asked, cocking his head. They were at the rear of the bedraggled rescue party, so it   
was OK to risk comment since Mystique was out of earshot.   
Tabby nodded. "Yeah. Fine."   
"You don't look fine," the speed-demon regarded her pinched face and tired eyes. "In fact, you look   
like sh*t."   
She glared at him. "Thanks for the concern, Speedy, but I can do without your little pep-talks!"   
Pietro grinned his trademark manic grin, but it faded a little as the blonde girl shifted her eyes back   
to the floor at her feet and sighed.   
"Hey," he drew closer, but not *too* close. "You're not OK, are you?" She avoided his gaze, and he   
scooted in front of her, blocking her path. "Come on, 'fess up."   
Tabby halted, glaring daggers. "I'm *fine*," she gritted. "I'm just peachy keen! I mean, what could be   
wrong about the guys who threw me out getting kidnapped in the middle of the night by some   
mutant hating scumbags? I'm totally OK with that. It's fine that we're going to get them back just   
like *that*," she snapped her fingers. "What could be the matter with that plan? Oh no, Pietro, I'm   
absolutely *wonderful*!"   
Pietro let his hands drop from his hips, and gave her a curious stare. "You think we should just turn   
around and go home? Is that it?"   
"No, I-I-I," Tabby's expression wavered, then she sighed and hung her head. "I don't know what I   
think any more. I just... I don't know."   
She started walking again, anxious not to be left alone in the dark by the other would-be rescuers.   
Pietro went after her, not as quickly as he might, but fast enough to walk by her side without   
overtaking her completely.   
"Do you hate the X-Men?" he asked bluntly.   
Tabby ground to a halt, mouth open. She shut it again, like a fish, but no sound would come out.   
Pietro watched her probingly, and finally she bent her neck, averting her eyes sheepishly and licking   
her lips in thought.   
"No. No, I don't *hate* them. I suppose it *was* my fault I got kicked out. Perhaps I even wanted to   
be. They were never really my kinda people. It's just..." she trailed off.   
The white-blonde boy laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, which she didn't shake off or blow up.   
Rather, she looked up in surprise.   
Pietro had a strange expression on his face. One which she didn't see too often, unless it was   
closely followed by a sneer.   
He looked apologetic.   
"Sorry," he said quietly, quite unlike his usual, boisterous self. "I guess we never really considered   
how you might be feeling about this whole 'let's go rescue the X-Men' kick. You must feel pretty   
mixed up about this schtick, huh?"   
Tabby bit her lip, both touched and perplexed at his unasked-for insight. "Uh-huh. I don't hate 'em,   
but... but I don't know if I wanna risk my life for 'em, either. They hurt me a lot. If I hadn't come to the   
Brotherhood, I don't know what I woulda done. You guys let me in. They shut the door in my face."   
"You're a survivor, Tabs. Remember that. You're a lot stronger than you look." Pietro sighed.   
"Y'know, none of us really *hate* the X-Men. I guess... I guess we're just looking for different things   
in life. Our goals may be the same, but the paths we choose... go on opposite sides of the   
mountain. You get what I'm saying?"   
Again, Tabby looked at him as if she'd never seen him before. Pietro was never usually this   
compassionate. Or deep, for that matter. She'd always guessed his inner monologue ran something   
like, _Must beat Daniels. Run. Food. Must beat Daniels. Money. Run. Must beat Daniels._ But now   
she wondered if there was more to the hyperactive teen than met the eye.   
"I suppose so. How about you? Don't you feel just a *little* bit weird, going to rescue Evan?"   
At this, he pulled a face; "Kinda, yeah. But like I said, Daniels may be a dipsh*t, but I don't *hate*   
him. Not the way these FOH goons hate us mutants."   
Tabby nodded. "Yeah." However, before she could say any more, a sultry, yet extremely peeved   
voice called back to them.   
"If you two have *quite* finished, we'd like very much to get *going* sometime tonight!" Mystique   
glared at them through eyes not quite her own, and tapped her foot impatiently, as she'd often been   
wont to do in her guise as Principal Darkholme.   
Tabby looked once more at Pietro, before starting off again. But the roadrunner-wannabe was   
already at his leader's side, arm resting pseudo-casually on her shoulder.   
"Ready and waiting, mon capitan," he grinned.   
Tabby watched as the habitually cerulean woman proceeded to chase him back to the front of the   
party. Then she herself took off at a sprint to catch them up.   
True, the X-Men had hurt her, but that didn't mean they deserved whatever the FOH were doling out.   
They'd been her teammates once, and whatever happened, she'd make sure they'd never be able to   
say that Boom-Boom let them down a second time.  
~  
The prize specimen wasn't moving much. He had his back to the observation wall and didn't make a   
sound. Only the rise and fall of his chest and the near-permanent shivers affirmed his life.   
Agent Malcom checked his chart, and consulted the chronometer. It was time to feed the creature.   
They'd finally reached the time window where he wouldn't throw up whatever they fed him.   
This time, his meal tray was calorie-high - the sort of disgustingly greasy stuff that would give health   
nuts apoplexy - and included a large sports bottle of water.   
Malcom marched in, placed the tray down, and gave orders. "Mutant. Eat."   
The mutant opened his eyes. "Urzh? *Aaahh*!"   
His mouth must still hurt. "The others have already been fed. Eat."   
The creature moved over to the tray like an animal while she retreated to observe. And take notes   
for *Reimund*.   
_Tail limp,_ she wrote. _Movements cautious, slightly laboured. Stomach growls._   
Inside, the creature took a sporkful of calorie-rich mush into his mouth. Then he howled in agony,   
holding both hands over his mouth - as if that would help anything. The spork clattered to the floor,   
and the mutant followed, moaning and groaning.   
_Subject still in pain,_ Malcom wrote. _Refuses food due to injury._   
As she watched, the creature balled itself up and whimpered a lot. He sounded like he was crying.   
_Reimund isn't going to like this..._  
~  
It hurt. A hundred times worse than when he accidentally bit himself.   
Discounting the sharp pain, his tongue was extremely sluggish. Kurt really wasn't sure he would be   
able to eat anyway.   
"Heh me," he cried. "Oga...Pohehha...Kahhih... [5]"   
  
_Subject attempts to speak,_ Malcom noted. _Some words almost intelligible._   
  
Determined not to give in so easily, Kurt forced himself up into a crouch. Then, to tell the Fiends   
exactly what he thought of them, he made a rude gesture. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted his tail.   
  
Agent Malcom completely missed the meaning of the action. "What is it doing?" she asked the   
psychologist.   
"Could be a signal that he needs the facilities again," the scientist said. "Or if you consider the   
creature's overall similarities to a cat, it could indicate that he feels good."   
Forge walked in at that very moment, saw what Kurt was doing, coughed, and exited at speed.   
  
"It's four in the morning and I'm freezing," Lance announced. "I'm going home."   
"Get back here!" Mystique shouted at his retreating form.   
Lance responded with a more widely-recognized rude gesture.   
Pietro sped to his teammate's side and pushed him back towards the group. "Listen to the boss-  
lady, stay alive," he said in a low voice.   
"I'm not afraid of her!" Lance said more loudly. "I say this mission is stupid! Give me one good   
reason why we should rescue the X-geeks!"   
Mystique assumed the form of Kitty Pryde. "Oh, Lance!" she said in a stolen voice. "You're, like, so   
totally my hero!"   
"Please don't impersonate my teammates," Rahne said calmly.   
Mystique shifted back to Generic Woman.   
"Fine," Lance grumbled. "I'll do it for Kitty. But she better appreciate it!"  
~  
His prize wasn't eating.   
Steven toured down to the cell and inspected it personally, and read the chart. "You see what   
happens when you won't co-operate? I didn't want any of this to happen."   
"...liar," said the prize specimen. "You won' bea' me [6]."   
Obviously, they'd have to sabotage his lips. Later. Perhaps as partial punishment. "It's not about   
winning. You should know that. It's about survival, Mutant. When mere humans are pitted against   
your kind - what possible advantage do we have?"   
The creature came right up to him, almost touching the observation wall. "Yaw no' in a cazhe [7]."   
"If it weren't for that collar, you'd have killed us in a matter of seconds. You can't deny that you're   
capable of doing so."   
The creature touched his tongue and winced. "No' anymo' [8]..."   
"Either you will eat, or you will be forced to eat. I have no more tolerance for resistance."   
The freak curled up on the floor. "Ih hurzz [9]."   
Steven Reimund snapped his fingers. Six burly men took over. One for each limb, and the other to   
cram food down the freak's maw.   
"As I told you, Mutant. I have no more patience."   
~  
"Malcom!"   
Agent Malcom ground her teeth, but kept her expression neutral as she turned around. "Yes, sir?"   
Reimund stalked close, a gaggle of lab-coated dimwits tagging along behind. The foremost was   
holding a clipboard, and, by squinting, Malcom could just make out her own writing on the top   
sheet, accompanied by various facts and figures she'd listed during her audience with the prize.   
Steven halted mere inches from her, and leaned in until his face almost touched hers. His dark eyes   
flashed murderously, and before he even opened his mouth, she knew what he was going to say.   
"The creature wasn't eating," he spat. "That's what you wrote, isn't it?"   
She nodded. "Yes, sir."   
"And why, pray tell, didn't you continue with the course of action given to you and *force* it to eat?"   
Malcom ignored the smirks directed her way by the Lab Coats and squared her jaw. "Sir, it was in   
pain. It seemed better to wait until it was more used to its..." she searched for the right word,   
"injuries, before attempting anything else."   
At this, Steven rocked back on his heels, raising a tired hand to his forehead and closing his eyes.   
"Malcom, Malcom, Malcom," he sighed, giving the impression of an exhausted teacher. "You *still*   
don't get it, do you? These things aren't capable of *feelings*. They aren't human, and emotion is   
most definitely a human trait."   
She frowned. "Sir?"   
{SNAP!} His eyelids slid back again. "If you are given specific instructions, you are to follow them   
*to the letter*. Do you hear me? To. The. *Letter*! It does *not* matter if any of these creatures   
claim to be in discomfort. They are play-acting. Trying to throw you off your guard. The demon   
knows how valuable it is to me - to us - so it is stalling. Remember, Malcom, all you see from them   
is crocodile tears. They do not hurt, they do not feel pain, they do not *feel*! They are mere objects,   
a mistake of nature to be wiped out before they destroy us all! Do you understand me?"   
Flecks of saliva sprayed from the corners of his mouth, and Malcom flinched as they hit her face. "I   
understand, sir. But the prize, sir - "   
"Everything will go ahead as planned, Agent," Steven retorted. "Because of your bungling, *I* had to   
go and take care of its little problem. Don't botch things up again. I don't want to be disturbed to do   
your job for you again." His communicator beeped, and he raised it to his mouth, not taking his   
eyes from her. "Reimund. It's finished? Good. Give the mongrel a collar and put it in a cell. Asking   
for his parents? Tell it - " here he smiled, "tell it that its parents are dead."   
There was a pause for a few minutes, presumably while the agent on the other end of the line   
repeated what he'd been told. Then the sound of tinny screaming filtered through. Steven smiled   
again, a full smile that danced in his eyes.   
Malcom surveyed him coldly. God, she hated him. Hated him more than anything she could   
imagine - including mutantkind. If anything were a blot on humanity, then it was Steven Reimund,   
without a doubt.   
Steven said a few more words into the communicator, then switched it off and replaced it in his belt.   
"You'll be receiving a new charge shortly," he informed her.   
"Sir?"   
"The mongrel, Forge. Be sure to remember your orders, Agent. Remember," he tapped at the side   
of his left eye, "I'm watching you."  
  
A set of curious eyes watched the scene with interest, noting how Agent Malcom's hands balled   
into fists and she muttered something unintelligible but distinctly hostile to Steven's retreating back.   
Logan hunkered down, shooting both Chuck and Hank seperate glances to affirm that they'd also   
seen the significance of the FOH tete-a-tete.   
  
_Well, well,_ he thought grimly. _Wonder if we have an ally in that dame?_ He looked up at where   
Malcom had returned, grumbling, to mopping the floor outside their plexiglass prison as per her   
extended punishment for not forcing Kurt to eat. _Or at least a fellow enemy of that Reimund   
b*stard._  
~  
Kurt went willingly with the soldiers, and stopped briefly outside of Logan's cage.   
"Ogah..." he managed, and put the back of one fist to his jugular. "Snihh. [10]"   
Logan boggled at him, and Kurt let the guards push him on.   
The machine reminded him of the nightmares he had when he was very small. All he could   
remember by now was being scared of a green light - usually. There was a Sci-fi-esque ray-gun set-  
up that was bright green, and it was aimed at a frame. At the other end, behind the largest sphere,   
was a comfy chair and a console.   
Kurt had no illusions about which end he was going to go into.   
Just like Icarus, he was going to pay for his wings.   
~  
"This is it?" Lance looked at the nondescript building. "Five miles from our house, and it took ten   
hours to get here?"   
"I think they're in there," Rahne affirmed. "Can you guys take it from here? I'm in no shape for   
another fight."   
"No problem," Pietro said confidently. "Go in, rescue X-geeks, trash baddies, get out. We can do   
that."   
"One would think," Mystique deadpanned.   
"Have a little faith, boss-lady," Lance supported his teammate. "They're only humans."   
"They have a lot of guns," Rahne warned.   
"We have Fred," Lance indicated the invincible mutant.   
"Do I have to duck when they throw the gun?" Fred wondered.   
"Huh?" Tabitha completely missed the reference.   
"Forget it," said Lance. "Old TV show. Let's move." And he marched towards the building. He   
traveled about 100 feet before realizing that no one was following him. "C'mon guys!" he called.   
"We're storming the enemy stronghold!"   
"Um, Lance?" Pietro said. "Being that we're more than likely outnumbered, don't you think we   
should have a plan?"   
"Like, having Mystique scout around for us?" Tabitha suggested.   
Lance grumbled something incomprehensible, and indicated his assent by sitting down. "Kitty   
better be *really* grateful for this," he mumbled.   
  
Even though Kurt was unresisting, it took half a dozen men to get him onto the operating table.   
They maneouvered him into position, face-down, so that his head fit into an indent in the table. Then   
they strapped down his limbs. All of them.   
The sound of ripping fabric followed, and Kurt's shirt fell loosely over his arms.   
The soldiers clomped out of the room. There was nothing to see; Kurt closed his eyes. Through his   
lids, he sensed the green light becoming brighter. There was a high-pitched whine.   
  
"What do you say now?" Logan asked after Kurt was out of sight.   
"Well, he certainly wasn't referring to suicide," Xavier said. "I can only infer he wants you to   
escape."   
"I didn't *ask* what the Elf meant."   
"My opinion?" Xavier said thoughtfully. "If your healing ability returns to full power immediately, you   
might have a chance. And even then, an organized counter-attack *could* kill you. How many   
students can you free before the alarm is answered?"   
  
"Get in there," Steven ordered the three surgeons standing behind him. The green light was, in fact,   
a laser, and had been used to make a neat incision below each of the freak's shoulder blades.   
The doctors hurried out of the protected sphere and got to work. Shots of steroids into the mutant's   
shoulder muscles, so he would be strong enough to work the wings. The so-called 'wing-buds' that   
the mongrel, Forge, had created. A careful rerouting of blood vessels to service the new limbs.   
Titanium staples to close the incisions. An IV drip of glucose and anti-rejection medicine. All done   
quickly, while the patient was conscious. Had the medical world known of the operation, it would   
have been deemed a success.  
~  
"Okay," Logan muttered, just on the edge of hearing. "I can free myself and one other before busting   
out. That means you, Poindexter. We need fighters, not thinkers."   
Chuck just nodded.   
"After that, we need our best fighters. Our goal's chaos. Get 'em shootin' 'emselves and not us. I   
can get Red and 'Ro. You get Slim and Porcupine."   
"I'd prefer to minimise fatalities," muttered Poindexter.   
"Yeah, an' I'd prefer not to be in here at all," said Logan. "They fired the first--" he broke off, looking   
at the returning guards. "...the fucking bastards."   
They'd done something to the Elf. Something strange. His back looked lumpy and weird. There was   
blood. An intravenous drip.   
Three guards were carrying a matress, which they manhandled into Elf's cell. Forge had been   
thrown in there hours ago, and he was still weeping. He didn't stop for the Fiends.   
Elf looked like hell, even though he was out of it.   
Malcom, the potential ally, shoved a bunch of trays into Forge's arms. "See that he eats these, or   
you will suffer his pain," she ordered.   
They were all watching the Elf. Staring at the Elf.   
_He knew this was gonna happen... He *let* it happen..._ Logan found his collar with the knuckles   
of his hand, making sure his adamantium blades wouldn't cut his jugular on the way out.   
{Snikt}   
The collar shattered, blood stopped flowing freely. His senses returned. Logan cut Poindexter's   
collar, then sliced through the clear wall like it was butter.   
Alarms started ringing, but he was already freeing Red and 'Ro.   
The room filled with fog.   
Logan let his nose and his instincts take over.   
~  
Mystique entered the building as Generic Male Soldier, and proceeded unhindered past the cubicles   
and meeting rooms.   
They were all empty.   
Next to a door marked "Steven Reimund, General Manager", was one with the less pretentious   
label, "Janitor's Closet".   
Why would a mop closet be right next to the boss's office?   
Mystique opened the door.   
Instead of brooms and buckets, there was an elevator with a keypad next to it.   
Obviously a code was required. Mystique inspected the numbered buttons closely. The 2, 5, and 6   
were somewhat faded from the jet black of the other digits, as if many fingers had wiped off the ink   
over time.   
'526,' Mystique guessed.   
No result.   
'652,' she tried.   
The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and she stepped in.   
  
Downstairs, in the real work area, the FOH were dealing with much more than paperwork.   
Beast easily smashed the glass to the older boys' cage, and quickly figured how he could disable   
the collars without hurting the students.   
"Hold your breath and don't swallow," he warned Evan. Placing a massive hand on either side of the   
collar, he pressed down and outwards, breaking it in half like a cookie to be shared. "Get Kitty," he   
instructed as he went to free Scott.   
_So much for color vision._ Scott memorized the hues around him before sliding the ruby quartz   
glasses back over his eyes.  
Evan climbed carefully through the broken glass and found the girls' cell. "Hit the deck!" he called   
before launching an armful of spikes at the glass.   
{*Kissh* thunk thunk thunk thunk}   
The girls ran up to meet him. Evan protruded a small spike from his index finger and plunged it   
through Kitty's collar, which promptly quit working.   
"These guys are *so* dead," Kitty said, quickly phasing a hand through Jean and Rogue's collars.   
  
The condemned men were wandering blind through the fog, shouting silly threats.   
"Back in your cages!"   
"Stop using your powers!"   
"We're going to shoot!"   
The Negro, fully spiked up, emerged into their sight distance.   
"Stand down, mutie!"   
In response, the freak of nature shot a large spike over their heads, directly at the base's   
mainframe.   
"My data!" a scientist cried as his computer went down.   
"You should double back-up," the mutant smirked.   
  
The elevator car itself had no buttons. Mystique let it carry her downwards, and emerged in a gray   
hallway.   
Judging by the sounds to her right, a battle was already in progress. She moved quickly and   
purposefully until she found a door.   
On the far side of the room beyond the door was a dense fog bank. In her immediate vicinity was a   
broken glass wall, behind which sat Charles Xavier.   
Mystique kicked out the bottom of the window below the hole, and walked in, glancing around for   
real FOH. Under Xavier's defiant gaze, she shifted quickly to Generic Female Soldier.   
A look of understanding crossed his face. "You're being moved to another holding area," she said   
loudly, pushing his chair through the hole and out the door.   
"Hey!" said a very official looking man. "Where are you taking the mutant?"   
"To a more secure area," Mystique replied.   
"There are none," he said suspiciously.   
"Yes sir, I thought-" Mystique gave the man a swift kick in the gut and bashed him over the head.   
He toppled to the floor, where she kicked him again for good measure.   
"My team is outside," she explained quickly, continuing back towards the elevator. She punched   
the same code into the keypad and pushed the wheelchair inside. "There's an office upstairs,"   
Mystique said as the door began to slide closed. "You can get out the front door."   
  
Forge, unable to see quite what was going on in the other room, bent over Kurt.   
"I'm sorry, man," he said softly. He gently touched the wing-buds, which were currently too small to   
service anything larger than a robin. "I didn't mean for it to be like that."   
Kurt did not seem inclined to come conscious any time soon.   
"The entire Friends of Humanity organization is going to suffer my wrath three times," Forge vowed.   
  
At the first sound of shattering glass, Agent Malcom had fled from the holding area. She had warned   
Reimund about this. Tried to, anyway. Mutants were much smarter than he gave them credit for.   
They were going to escape, they were going to be angry, and there was going to be a massacre.   
With the FOH on the losing side.   
The imminent death of her co-workers didn't bother her. She hoped Reimund went first, and gorily.   
A thought suddenly struck her. She had known that mutants were capable of real emotion, and was   
becoming increasingly convinced that they were reasonably nice, able to understand and follow   
rules, and aware of their conduct. Basically, they were normal, reasoning people.   
Quite possibly, they didn't particularly *want* to kill her co-workers.   
Malcom entertained the idea of sabotaging her so-called teammates. That would mean helping the   
mutants, and probably saving some pathetic FOH lives. She would certainly lose her job, but that   
was likely going to happen anyway, and she'd quit caring.   
She started back towards the holding area.   
~  
Bobby didn't know which way to go. His teammates - what he could see of them - were currently   
engaged in fending off a round of FOH goons whilst simultaneously heading for the exit. Nobody had   
had time to remove his collar in the melee that had erupted so suddenly as he, Scott and Evan   
stepped from their cage, and the mutant also known as Iceman found himself outnumbered and   
helpless against people who would probably shoot him dead if they ever got past the barrier of bone   
spikes and lasers Scott and Evan had created.   
"Oh crap!" Bobby cursed, ducking aside and falling back a little as a bullet bounced off the floor by   
his feet. He stumbled, falling heavily against the wall. "Oh shit!"  
"Fall back!" Scott yelled in typical leader-mode, venting a flurry of red light at the foremost   
assailants. He was trying not to kill them, but they were making things incredibly difficult by   
stepping *in*to his line of fire.   
Bobby edged backwards. "Oh crap-shit!" He covered his head, dodging aside as more bullets   
richocheted off the wall where his head had been.  
Nearby, Beast roared as one well-placed shot ground into his calf. Ignoring the pain, he proceeded   
to disarm his attacker, lifting the hapless man over his head and hurling him into a line of his own   
comrades. "Here, have a present!" the furry mutant quipped. "I think this belongs to you!"  
Evan fired off three more bone spikes, but it was obvious that he was finding it difficult to produce so   
many so quickly. "Scott, I can't keep this up, man!" he called.   
"You have to try!" Scott yelled back, taking out two oncoming soldiers with a quick blast to their   
kneecaps. They went down, screaming, but at least they were still alive. "If you don't, we may be   
*all* of us dead!"   
Evan grit his teeth and carried on, yet every new spike was a strain. His calcium levels were   
severely low - he hadn't consumed anything to increase them since yesterday, and the FOH   
scientists had taken more than a few spikes as 'sample' when he arrived. The result of all this was   
that the dark-skinned boy was weakening visibly. Something which the Fiends noticed.   
"Target the Negro!" shouted one who looked to be in charge. "Take him out!"   
Evan fell back, stumbling into Bobby, who held him up as his legs threatened to give way. A volley   
of well-aimed bullets headed their direction, and both boys swore and cringed as they realised there   
was no escaping or dodging so many.   
{CREAK!} A pair of hands reached as if from nowhere, grabbing Bobby's arm and the scruff of Evan's   
collar and dragging them backwards... into the wall.   
{SLAM!}   
{RATATATATATATATAT!}   
The sound of metal striking metal many times over reverberated around the tiny chamber that had   
opened and shut so abruptly again after sucking the two mutants inside. Bobby looked up into the   
face of their rescuer, and his eyes nearly fell out of his head.   
Agent Malcom said nothing as she extracted a strange key-like device from her pocket and inserted   
it into the twelve-year-old's collar. There was a click and a hiss, and the confounded thing slipped   
easily from around his neck and clattered to the floor.   
Malcom pointed along the corridor that led off from the secret alcove behind the wall. "Go that way,   
there's an elevator you can use to get to surface level. Use the code 652 to activate it, and then get   
the hell away from here."   
"You're *helping* us?" Bobby asked incredulously. Malcom nodded. "But you hate mutants! You   
helped them *capture* us in the first place."   
Malcom turned away from him towards a small control panel she flipped open in a steel strut that   
reached to the ceiling. "Let's just say, I've learned a coupla things recently," she said. "Now get,   
before I change my mind and turn you in to Reimund!"   
Bobby paused for a second, then slung Evan's arm over his shoulder and started to lead the older   
boy away.   
"Wait!" Evan cried out breathlessly. "What about... others... can't... leave 'em..."   
"I'll take care of it, just *go*!" Malcom snapped, eyes flashing and giving them little choice but to   
trust her and get moving. They couldn't get back through the wall to help Scott and Beast, and just   
had to hope that the turncoat agent would be true to her word and help them out.   
Malcom watched the pair hulk down the corridor and disappear around a corner before transferring   
her attention back to the control panel at hand. Adroitly, she tapped in a few numbers and went   
thorugh the usual protocol of a retinal scan and thumbprint. Luckily for her, the system was still   
functioning and hadn't been damaged too badly or gone into lockdown because of the breach. There   
was a chance that one of the escapees had managed to destroy that mechanism completely, but   
she couldn't be sure, and so had to work fast.   
Pushing a few buttons, she smiled to herself, glancing up at the small black and white screen that   
showed the room beyond where the battle was still raging for the laser boy and gorilla.   
"Special delivery," she muttered, and hit the last key.   
  
Scott and Beast were faring badly, forced back into the latter part of the room where there was no   
exit, and apparently missing two of their team. So it came as a great surprise when a mechanical   
whirring started up in the vicinity of the ceiling, and a large metal wall came sliding down on top of   
the remains of Evan's wall of spikes, effectively separating them from the majority of the FOH   
goons. A few were left on their side of the divide, but a few well-placed laser shots soon took care of   
them, and left the two mutants bewildered and alone in an ostensibly exit-less prison.   
Another whirring and clunking signalled a hidden door swinging open at the very back of the   
chamber, on a separate wall to that which Evan and Bobby had vanished through.   
A female voice crackled over the tannoy system. "Go through it. Don't ask questions, just do it! The   
ones called Bobby and Evan are fine and on their way to safety, but you must get out quickly before   
reinforcements arrive and lift the divide!"   
Scott looked skeptically at the speaker. "Who are you? Why are you helping us?"   
A sigh filtered through, then: "I'm nobody. Now get! There are others of you who need help!" There   
was a pip, and the line went dead. Scott turned to Beast.   
"Should we trust her?"   
"Do we have a choice?" His teacher winced, and they lumbered and limped through the escape   
route while their unseen helper made her way to another point in the building with a profound curse   
on her lips.  
~  
Ororo, having manufactured sufficient fog to keep the FOH confused for a while, led her cellmates   
Amara and Jubilee in search of an X-Man who might know where the exit was.   
The first people they came to were four New Mutants, still behind glass.   
"What's going on out there?" Ray pressed his palms to the window.   
"Chaos," Amara replied.   
"We better find someone who can bust you out," Jubilee said.   
"We can't," Ororo said.   
"Why not?" Jubilee glanced around. "The others must be in here somewhere."   
"We can't search," Ororo explained, "because I won't leave any of you. We will wait for them to find   
us."   
"Actually, I think we're pretty safe in here," Sam said.   
"I won't risk them moving you somewhere else," Ororo said resolutely. "Or disposing of you entirely   
while they have the chance."   
  
Logan was keeping his wild half strictly under control, and staying mostly behind the line of   
scrimmage.   
He found Rogue and Jean forcibly restraining Kitty, who would otherwise have been engaging in acts   
too gruesome to depict in a horror movie, judging by the way she was glaring at the scattered FOH.   
"Stripes, get outta here," he ordered. "You're not useful right now."   
"No?" Rogue raised an eyebrow.   
"Trust me," Logan said. "You do *not* want to absorb a mutant-hater. Red," he directed his   
comment to Jean, "Halfpint needs a time-out. Find her a quiet corner."   
He improvised a doorway for them, watched them go, and returned to his rescue mission.   
  
Professor Xavier found the exit with no further incident, and motored along the sidewalk towards the   
young people standing at the corner.   
"Professor!" Rahne jumped up from where she'd been leaning against a telephone pole. "Are you all   
right?"   
"Fine," he said, noting the heavy bandages peeking from beneath her shirt. "And you?"   
Rahne touched her side. "I'll live," she smiled bravely.   
Xavier turned to the Brotherhood members, who were watching him suspiciously. "I believe your   
services are needed inside," he said.   
Lance nodded and led his team towards the building.   
"Ah, Mr. Dukes," the Professor swiveled his chair. "If you wouldn't mind?" He touched his collar.   
Fred looked at Lance, who waved his hand to indicate "whatever". Shrugging, the massive mutant   
broke off the collar by much the same method as Beast had used.   
"Ahh," Xavier rubbed his head. "Much better. Thank you."   
Fred nodded and followed his leader.   
  
At the far end of the long room, on the other side of the fog bank, Logan found six kids and 'Ro.   
"Fine," Amara said. "So she knows something."   
"Ha!" Jubilee bounced up and down. "You owe me five dollars."   
Seeing Logan's raised eyebrow, Ororo sighed. "The girls are betting on my ability to formulate an   
effective plan."   
"No underage gambling," Logan growled.   
{Snikt}   
He created another impromptu aperture, and the four boys let themselves out.   
"Left you an exit on the other side of the fog," Logan indicated the direction. "I'm going to find Elf."   
"Am I a hero?" he heard the Squirt ask as the septet walked away.   
"You didn't even do anything," Ray said.   
"You're not a hero," Sam compromised, "but you're a survivor."   
  
{Ding}   
The elevator door slid open, leaving Bobby to stare at the Brotherhood.   
"Aw, poor Daniels," Pietro smirked. "Couldn't take being locked up?"   
"Yeah, well," Bobby assisted Evan out of the compartment, "I dare you to stay in a locked room for   
five minutes."   
"Ooh, sounds like a challenge," Pietro folded his arms. "Whassa matter, Daniels? You need a   
sidekick now?"   
"Go away, Pietro," Evan groaned.   
"Now *that*," said Todd, "is the lamest comeback I ever heard."   
"Truly sad," Tabitha shook her head.   
"C'mon, guys," Fred was holding the door. "We got work to do."   
"Yes!" Lance made a grand entrance to the elevator. "We must rescue Kitty!"   
"We?" Todd raised an eyebrow.   
"What about the others?" Tabitha asked.   
"Yeah, whatever," Lance said, his eyes glazed over.   
  
Elf was being held in another room. Logan followed the scent trails of fur and pain.   
"Logan?" Forge called.   
"Yeah," the man in question came around the corner and destroyed yet more FOH property to let   
himself into the cell.   
"Stop right there!"   
A line of soldiers with "Special Unit" printed on their uniforms aimed rifles at him.   
"Joy," Logan sighed.   
"Put your hands in the air!"   
"What is this, a teen concert?" Logan growled.   
"Hands up, now!"   
"Just *shoot* me already!" Logan shouted.   
The Special Unit was happy to accept his invitation.   
The feral man allowed himself to be hit repeatedly in the arms, healing every would almost   
instantaneously. During the whole process, he was careful to flaunt his claws and his willingness to   
use them.   
"Run away!" cried the apparent leader of the Special Unit.   
The entire squadron double-timed it to the door.   
"Good," Logan said, turning and entering the cell. "How's Elf?"   
"Still unconscious," Forge said. "Probably getting a nasty infection. And in heavy pain."   
Logan surveyed the scene. "Can you carry?"   
"Carry what?"   
"Take the other end of the mattress," Logan instructed, preparing to lift the head.   
Forge managed the task, and together they ferried Kurt towards the exit.   
  
"Yo, look what I found," Todd nudged the body on the floor with his filthy sneaker. "FOH scum."   
The scum sat up suddenly, pointing a gun at Todd's head. "I *knew* there were more muties in this   
town," he said, with hate in his voice. "Experimentation is pointless. Move, and I *will* kill you."  
~  
Forge and Logan put the mattress down, and Logan neatly sliced through the collars. He just   
couldn't stand the things.   
Kurt moaned a little in his sleep, and the growths on his back twitched and moved.   
The stapled-shut wounds began to look less puffy.   
"The hell?" said Logan, picking up the mattress again.   
Forge went pale. "Oh God. They actually did it. Those frikkin' bastards managed to do it."   
"Do *what*, Fixit?"   
"They injected him with your healing factor. The minute you cut the collar, it kicked in. They meant   
it to - to - promote the acceptance and growth of the artificial wings."   
"They put *wings* on him?"   
"They wanted bat wings. Like a demon." Forge got a strange smile on his face. "Well, you can't   
have everything you want."   
The wings were growing as Kurt's body spat out staples. They were also growing feathers.   
"Logan?"   
"Yeah?"   
"How fast do you think we can go like this?"   
"Why?"   
"Let's just say he's gonna have a *really* impressive wingspan."   
  
Todd froze. Guns were okay if you knew what you were doing, and especially if they were pointed   
the right way, yo. Like at Duncan "Jerkface" Matthews. That'd be cool.   
The one currently pressed into his temple was definitely *uncool*, yo. And - well - it made Todd   
wish he'd gone to the bathroom before they'd set off a-rescuing.   
"Um." He managed. "Li'l help?"   
  
It didn't hurt so much, now. Even his tongue felt better.   
Kurt woke up. His body was different, but it was a difference he'd wished for all his life.   
He had wings.   
Kurt rolled onto one side and ran a curious finger along the feathers.   
They were pale, pale blue. Like snow on mountains.   
They felt strong.   
"Elf, you all right?"   
Kurt got up onto all fours, stretching his new limbs. _God bless impatient men... Especially their   
continuing stupidity._ "Es ist *wunderbar*!" He flapped once, and sent himself into the air.   
His tail made a natural rudder, and the open spaces of the Fiends' complex made for plenty of wing   
room.   
Ah, there was the man himself. Holding someone hostage. Typical.   
Kurt decided to repay him.   
He swooped, and caught Steven Reimund in both arms, taking him into the air.   
~  
Reimund hadn't seen the winged demon glide in behind him. He'd barely had time to register the   
expression on his hostage's face before being abruptly lifted into the air.   
"Dankeschoen for the wings," said a familiar voice by his ear.   
Steven twisted his neck around, and found his eyes a mere inch from a very pointy smile.   
"Hi Katzchen," the freak grinned at someone down the hallway. "Jean, Amara, can I borrow your   
services?" He managed to reverse direction in the narrow corridor, and flew back towards the   
holding area.   
  
Rogue stared at Kurt and his enormous wingspread, which she estimated to be at least ten feet   
across.   
"He did it," she whispered. "He really did it."   
Jean had to run to keep up with Kurt's speedy flight, catching Amara's hand as she passed the   
younger girl.   
"Kitty!" Lance exclaimed, spotting his girlfriend. "I've come to rescue you!"   
"Um, hello?" Kitty crossed her arms. "I've, like, pretty much escaped already."   
"Darn," Fred looked around the FOH-less area. "We missed all the action."   
"Maybe if Rahne had *moved* a little faster," Lance grumbled.   
"Rahne?" Kitty said in surprise.   
Pietro rapidly related the Brotherhood's adventures of the day, beginning with Rahne's unexpected   
arrival and ending with their entrance to the building.   
"Rahne!" Kitty ran for the elevator, discovered that she did not have the necessary code, ran back,   
and grabbed Lance by the collar. "Give me the code right now," she said in a dangerous voice, "or I   
will phase something abnormal into your guts."   
"I don't have it," Logan whimpered.   
"652," Mystique said as she shifted back to her true form.   
"Thank you," Kitty growled.   
  
Kurt tilted backwards in the air, bringing his feet forward to meet the floor as he landed. He folded   
his wings across his back and threw Reimund unceremoniously into what had formerly been his   
own prison.   
"Jean?" he waved a hand to indicate the broken glass on the floor.   
Jean's similar hand-wave was much more effective, lifting the shards easily to fit into the hole in the   
window. "Amara?" she nodded to the New Recruit.   
Amara rubbed her hands together and aimed a small stream of flame at the glass, melting it back   
into a single pane.   
"Sehr gut," Kurt dusted his hands. "What are you staring at?" he said, noticing Forge.   
"They work," Forge vaguely indicated the wings.   
Kurt fluffed his feathers. "Seem to," he agreed.   
"I'm tired of this place," Logan glared at the general destruction. "Let's book."   
Abandoning the mattress, the five mutants walked out of their jail.   
  
Agent Malcom had reappeared in the hallway. "I'm really sorry for all the trouble," she said honestly.   
"I'll make sure this place stays shut down."   
"And your associates?" Ororo asked.   
Malcom smirked. "I doubt they've got the guts to try it again."   
"Party's over," Logan said, emerging from the other room. "Everybody out."   
"We won't all fit in there," Scott said, inspecting the size of the elevator car.   
"I will escort Kitty to safety!" Lance strode to her side.   
"Ew," Kitty stepped away. "I am *not* riding with him."   
"Shades, Doc, go with the Brotherhood," Logan said. "The kids next. I'll bring 'Ro and wing-boy   
here."   
Kurt grinned sheepishly, suddenly conscious of the extra room he now took up.   
"Kitty!" Lance stretched his arm toward her as Scott herded him into the elevator. "I'll be waiting for   
you!"   
"Like, gag me with a spoon."  
~  
Most of the captured mutants and their would-be rescuers were gone when the sound of breaking   
glass rent the chamber. It tinkled with the exact noise that accompanied a bullet being put through,   
and Malcom swore loudly.   
"Shit! I forgot his gun!"   
"Where are you goin'?" Logan asked as the former FOH agent turned and began running back down   
the corridor they'd just left.   
Malcom paused long enough to call over her shoulder; "To take care of some business. Get goin'.   
This ain't any place for you mutants any more."   
Ororo stepped forward, folding her arms. She, Logan and Kurt were the only ones left, and behind   
her the lift dinged open to admit another escapee. "We're not going unless everything's finished   
here."   
For a moment, Malcom's green eyes flashed dangerously. "Believe me, they will be. Now *get out*!"   
And with that, she spun on her heel and dashed out of sight.   
"Fuck," Logan growled, and made to follow, but a slender blue hand caught at his elbow.   
"Nein, mein Herr," Kurt said softly. "Let her do what she has to."   
Logan glared at the winged elf, but ceased trying to break away, instead bustling past and forcibly   
shoving Ororo into the elevator. "Get to the surface, 'Ro. Me an' Elf'll follow after ya."   
Ororo's face was a picture as the doors slid shut on her, and the sound of fists banging against   
metal could be heard as the lift slid up the shaft with her inside it.   
"Why didn't you go with her?" Kurt asked, perplexed. "You *know* I'll need all the room I can get   
with these." He twitched his new wings to illustrate.   
"A long time ago, I made a promise to Chuck I'd protect you kids, short stuff," Logan answered   
grimly, watching as the glowing floor numbers lit up in ascending order. "And that's exactly what I'm   
gonna do."   
  
Steven staggered along the corridor, cursing as his supporting hand left red smears on the wall. His   
palm was cut and bleeding, lacerated from where his bullet had exploded the cell-glass before he   
was ready, but he made no effort to staunch the injury. His mind was on other things.   
Other things with wings and blue fur.   
The weaselly man considered his stance on the escaping prisoners. He didn't particularly care   
about the others, but the demon - his *prize* - filled his thoughts with an unnatural rage that bubbled   
to the surface in an expression beyond hatred. Hatred was what he'd felt for mutantkind in general.   
The demon-boy, he loathed more than life itself. His job, his career, his whole *life* now hung in   
tatters because of that... that *thing*. And it was going to pay. Dear God in Heaven, he was going to   
make it pay.   
But in order to do that, he first had to stop it fleeing.  
The door to his office loomed up, and Steven kicked it open with one angry foot. It swung back,   
smashing against the wall and leaving a sizable dent in the metal. He was through and at his desk   
before it had even finished reverberating.   
He didn't bother to go to his seat on the other side, instead leaning over and flipping open the book   
that permenantly rested on the corner, as if thrown there by chance. Inside, where pages should   
have been, was a small hollow couched in plastic. And in that hollow was a small red button.   
There was nothing else. Just the button. Not even a note to say what it was for. There was no need,   
since Reimund was the only one who knew it was there. *He* knew what would happen when he   
pressed it, and that was all that mattered.   
His bleeding hand hung uselessly by his side, but he resolutely wiped the seeping blood on his coat   
and reached across to bring his fist down on the button.   
Incongruously, the voice of his predecessor flew back to him through the ether, repeating the words   
he'd told the up-and-coming FOH when he first took up residence in this office years ago.   
"Automatic lockdown," he'd said. "This'll override any other command given. One press, and the   
place will be barricaded from the inside. No one gets in, and no one gets out. Complete and utter   
control."  
"No one gets out," Steven whispered to himself. Then: "No*thing* gets out." He smiled mirthlessly,   
and raised his arm.   
{BANG!}  
Reimund lurched forward, eyes widening. Automatically, his hand flew to his chest, coming away   
even more bloody from where a small hole had opened up. He gasped, staring at the red liquid   
dripping from his trembling fingers. Blood. *His* blood.   
"Hello, Reimund," said a voice. "Didn't forget about *me*, did you?"   
"You!" Steven spat, swivelling his head to look at the figure framed in the doorway. "You... traitor!"   
Malcom shook her head, arms still raised with the gun clutched in both hands. "No, *I'm* not the   
traitor," she said softly. Her eyes were hard, and Steven saw cold revulsion in them. And it was   
directed at him.   
He coughed, and flecks of red sprayed onto the polished wooden desk. "You've betrayed your own   
kind," he snarled. Again she shook her head, almost pityingly at him. Steven yelled, "You stupid   
bitch!" and made to push the button. If Malcom had turned, then trapping those mutant freaks would   
hurt her more than mere words.   
{BANG! BANG! BANG!}   
Reimund gasped, blood bubbling in his throat as another of her bullets ripped through his chest. The   
other two took out the backs of his knees with perfect accuracy, and he went down, gurgling as the   
lockdown key slid from his grasp forever.   
Malcom watched unsympathetically as his body slumped to the floor. For a moment his fingertips   
gripped at the edge of the desk, and she half-considered putting another round into him until he gave   
one last judder and sagged completely into a heap. His eyes were closed, and he made no more   
movement save for the fresh red rolling down his back.   
The blonde woman pocketed her weapon, and turned to go. "Burn in Hell, *sir*," she threw over her   
shoulder, and walked unregretfully away. Her career as an FOH member was finished, she knew,   
but she didn't care. A tiny, victorious smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and there was a   
sense of satisfaction in her step as she strode out of the claustrophobic office.   
  
The elevator dinged open once more, and waited patiently for another passenger to bear skywards.   
"Come *on*, Elf," Logan growled, all but shovelling the younger mutant in. "You're next."   
"But Malcom," Kurt protested. The sounds of gunfire hadn't reached them, but he had a gnawing   
feeling in his gut that something was wrong.   
"I'll wait for the dame, if it'll make ya happy," replied the all-but-invincible Wolverine. "Just get yer   
butt into that elevator before reinforcements arrive."  
Kurt looked at him, and then back down the passage the FOH woman had vanished down. Finally   
he sighed and did as he was bade, turning to the sliding doors and tottering slightly under the   
unaccustomed weight of his new wings.   
  
Reimund's eyelids flickered briefly, and he groaned. He was close to death, he knew, but not quite   
dead. Not yet.   
The wounded and dying general hauled himself up by his hands, half-crawling, half-slithering in his   
own juices to the open doorway. His hurts had faded a little into comforting numbness, and his face   
registered little pain and much determination as he inched out into the corridor.   
There he slumped again, strength almost completely spent. Prising open one eye, he saw a splash   
of white lab coat in the distance and smiled. He may not have been able to rid the world of those   
stinking muties, but at least he'd remove a sympathiser.   
The gun he'd used to break out of the cell was still in his hand. He'd never let it go. Carefully, he   
raised it and aimed even as the light in his eyes dimmed for the last time. He had only one shot.   
Thank God he was a good marksman.   
And then he fired.   
  
Kurt's head jerked up involuntarily as the shot rang out, and he spun around from where one foot   
had been inside the elevator. The wings he and Logan had arranged so carefully inside the small   
space ripped clear, leaving behind more than a few feathers, and he dashed past the bemused man   
with all speed.   
He found her clutching at the metallic wall several corridors away. From the spots of blood on the   
floor she'd staggered this far, and he stopped, staring.   
"Fraulein?"   
Malcom looked up, face taut and strained. One hand was clutched to her middle, and Kurt could   
see blood pooling between her fingers. She tried to take another step forward, but stumbled and fell.   
Kurt's face opened with horror, and he skidded to the fallen agent's side. Her eyes were open, and   
she was still breathing, at least.   
"I thought I told you to get out," she gritted as he slid a hand under her head to lever it up a little.   
"I was never very good at taking orders," he replied, making as if to slip his other arm around so that   
he could carry her, but she swatted him away.   
"Idiot! You're the one they want!" she said. A cough sent splatters of crimson onto her chin, and   
Kurt gazed at her in dismay. "Reimund's dead," she said simply, "but they'll still be after you. You   
must get out. Quickly!"   
"But - "   
"Stupid mutant!" she snarled, some of her brusqueness returning as she shoved him with one hand.   
Only his tail prevented him from falling backwards.   
For a second he hesitated, then set his mouth and made to rise. All at once her hand grabbed at   
his chest fur, his shirt being long gone.   
"My... my son," she gasped, a sliver of red tracking the side of her face. "Your institute... we   
watched you for so... so long ::cough:: please... his pa's a good-for-nothin'... ran off so long ago..."   
Kurt held her trembling fingers in his own, understanding what she was trying to say. Asking for   
help from those she'd detested for so long was difficult, and he made it easier for her by saying, "Of   
course we'll take him in, Fraulein. Our home is always open to those in need."   
She retched again, bringing up yet more blood. "32 Wetherby Street," she said thickly. "Name's   
Nathan... Nathan Malcom... he's... not like his ma... not so... intolerant..."   
Kurt squeezed her hand comfortingly. "We'll go to him, Tapferes [11]. Don't you worry."   
Malcom smirked, shaking her head. "Mutants. Who'da thought you'd have so much ::cough:: so...   
much... humanity..." Her eyes dimmed and finally extinguished, and her head flopped back, mouth   
open.   
Kurt felt something prick the backs of his eyeballs as the hand of his once-enemy went limp, and   
he reached out to close her staring and lifeless eyes. Gathering the body into his arms, he lifted her   
easily - almost effortlessly despite his small size. There was definitely something to be said for   
Logan's healing abilities. They brought with them a smidgen of the older mutant's strength.The   
sounds of approaching guards echoed down the corridor as the reinforcements Malcom had warned   
them about headed their way.   
Kurt didn't startle when he turned to see said mutant behind him. He'd known Logan was there   
since he'd arrived, but chosen not to speak to him. Now he scowled at Logan's folded arms and   
bleak expression, not liking what it portended.   
"I'm not leaving her," the winged elf said defensively, and was surprised when the response was a   
mere nod.   
"I know," Logan replied, and turned to go. Kurt followed meekly, wing-joints scraping the ceiling of   
the low-roofed corridor.   
~  
Kurt backed into the elevator while Logan held the door. The compartment really wasn't very big,   
and the older mutant had to squeeze into a corner.   
Fortunately, the ride was short. Kurt went sideways out the door and carried Malcom to the   
entryway, where he had to open both doors in order to egress.   
"Listen up," Logan said as he strode towards the small crowd at the corner, "cuz we're only de-  
briefing once. Reimund is dead. Shot Malcom on the way down," he indicated the woman in Kurt's   
arms. "FOH underlings mostly confused and disorganized. All teammates safe and accounted for.   
Elf got some of my healing factor."   
"Nothing greater than some minor injuries and emotional upset," Ororo reported. "With the   
exception of Rahne, who was wounded in the fight at the Institute, and a GSW to Dr. McCoy's leg."   
"I'm fine, really," the lycanthrope insisted.   
"How far are we from home?" Kurt asked.   
"5 miles from the Brotherhood house," Mystique told him.   
Kurt did some fast math. "Too far for one 'port," he decided. "I can take her and get the van." He   
paused. "Except I'm not sure if I can sit in it."   
"Here," Logan stepped forward and offered his arms. "Give me the dame, take Shades, and have   
*him* bring the van."   
"That works," Kurt carefully passed Malcom to Logan, put his hand on Scott's shoulder, and   
disappeared in an especially large cloud of smoke.   
The two mutants reappeared briefly in an alley somewhere, and then reached their final destination   
of the Institute garage.   
Kurt bent over and coughed.   
"You okay?" Scott asked in concern.   
"Yeah," Kurt waved his hand. "I just weigh more than I used to. I'll be-" He straightened up, the   
pained expression clearing from his face. "Hm. The many uses of healing factor."  
~  
"He's takin' his sweet time."   
"Um. Mister Logan? Like, do you like *have* to carry that like, dead body around?"   
"She's the only one of 'em deserves ta go home, Half-pint."   
"...eeewwww..." Kitty whimpered.   
Lance tried to comfort her, and got a black eye for his trouble.   
{Flap flap flap flap...} Kurt glided to a stop in front of them. He had a big bag of twinkies under one   
arm. "Scott's on his way." He ate another twinkie.   
"Any of those for us?"   
"Sorry, I'm *hungry*. I just grabbed whatever was handy." Another twinkie vanished.   
Everyone glared at Forge. "Great. Now there's even *less* food to go around," muttered Ray. "Way   
to go, brainiac."   
"Sorry, TANSTAAFL [12]. You need energy to 'port, and you need energy to fly. Fortunately the   
healing factor should be doing something about the metabolism." Forge smiled nervously. "You   
could try gliding and cut down on energy demand that way..."   
"Already working on it," said Kurt. He scratched his wings, shedding loose feathers and the   
occasional piece of down.   
  
Kitty snatched up a feather that landed near her foot. Even though it was stiff enough to fly with, it   
was softer than any feather she knew.   
It was a miracle, made by evil men.   
_I'm happy for you,_ she thought. _You got your dream. It cost a lot, but you won it. You *earned*   
it._   
Forge kind of slumped in on himself, staring at nothing. The FOH had told him he was an orphan.   
Kitty gave him a hug. "It's gonna be okay. We don't even know if they like, *had* your parents,   
right? Maybe they were lying. Maybe they let them go."   
"They had them," Forge murmured. "We were all caught together. After that - I didn't see them   
again. I never even said--" his voice cracked, and tears flowed.   
"They knew," Kitty soothed. "They always know."  
~  
Scott pulled up in the X-Van, which was designed to hold all 18 X-Men, but not the 25 mutants   
currently assembled on the sidewalk. And certainly there was no room for a body.   
"I call next to Kitty," Lance said.   
"This is getting silly," Pietro sighed. "We're walking."   
"I ain't walkin' next to *him*, yo," Todd watched Lance warily.   
"Kitty..." the older Brotherhood member had apparently fallen back into a lovesick daze. Fred   
hauled him off down the street.   
"Ugh," Kitty climbed into the van. "Like, good riddance."   
The seven captured New Recruits found seats in the back, and Kurt helped Rahne in to sit with   
them. Everyone else packed in, claiming every available seatbelt.   
"Okay," Kitty jumped out. "I am *not* riding with a dead body."   
Kurt shrugged, slammed the sliding door, and waved Scott off.   
"Kii-ttyyy!" came a voice from some distance away.   
Kitty rolled her eyes. "Like, what is *wrong* with him?"   
"The world may never know," Kurt watched the retreating Brotherhood. "I think I'll fly home. What   
about you?"   
"Um, hello?" Kitty met his gaze. "You *have* noticed it's daylight, right?"   
"I can get pretty high," Kurt explained. "No one will see me. Or us."   
"Um..." Kitty shifted uncomfortably.   
"It's fun. You'll like it. I promise."   
"Okay," she gave in. "But if you, like, drop me or whatever, I swear I'll kill you."   
"Deal," Kurt grinned. He hugged Kitty from behind, tested his wings, and leaped into the wind.   
  
As soon as the X-Van arrived at the Institute, Ororo demanded that Hank go to the medical bay.   
There she thoroughly examined him, despite his protestations of, "Who's the doctor here, anyway?"   
The shot to his leg had been only a glancing blow; the bullet was not there. Ororo bandaged the   
shallow wound and gave Hank a long lecture on going easy for a few days.   
  
"Wheee-yah!"   
"Told you you'd like it," Kurt grinned. His wingbeats were deep and powerful, carrying them swiftly   
homewards.   
"We have *got* to do this more often," Kitty shouted over the rushing air.   
"*After* we get you checked out in the infirmary."   
"What for?" Kitty frowned. "Like, *you*'re the one who got experimented on."   
"I'm also the one who got the healing factor," Kurt countered.   
"I feel fine," Kitty insisted.   
"Your health is not open for debate."  
~  
"By the way, Katzchen? Roof or door?"   
"Huh?"   
"I can land on the roof or near the front door. I don't want to land on balconies, yet. Too small..."   
"Uhm." Kitty blushed. "Door. Thanks."   
He looked so happy, so complete. Like he was living a favourite dream.   
"Are you *sure* you're okay?"   
"Ja. I am. So I'll have a few more nightmares. I'm used to them."   
All too soon, the Institute came into view. Kitty felt sad about being groundbound again, then   
insanely jealous of Amanda. "Do you really like her? Amanda?"   
"Ja, Katzchen. She accepts me for everything I am. Mutant, teleporter. German weirdo eating   
machine... It's all 'just Kurt' to her. And I'm rarely 'just Kurt' to anyone." He smiled. "I treasure that.   
And the strength of her spirit... I treasure *her*. We complete each other."   
Kitty bit her lip and tried not to cry.  
~  
Kurt missed her reaction, due to the fact that he was concentrating on a safe landing in the   
driveway. His feet met the pavement, he found his balance, and he released his passenger with a,   
"Thanks for flying Elf Airlines, have a nice day."   
"Yeah," Kitty said absently, heading inside.   
Kurt made to follow her, but was delayed at the door by his inability to settle his wings properly.   
_Darn it._   
*Bamf*   
"Katzchen!" he hurried to catch up. "Want me to walk you down?"   
"*No*."   
Kurt instantly backed off, and instead directed himself to the kitchen.   
  
"So what am I supposed to do with her?" As it seemed awkward to put down a corpse anywhere,   
Logan was still holding Agent Malcom.   
"We'll have to take her to the morgue," the Professor leaned back and closed his eyes. "I don't have   
the energy to do it now."   
"Guess I'll just leave her on the couch then," Logan said. "Er-"   
"Yes." _Jean, would you bring a clean white sheet to the study?_   
_On my way, Professor._   
  
"Yo, K-man," Evan slammed down a milk-stained glass that had probably been filled and emptied   
many times. "What's up?"   
Kurt stared at his friend. "How am I supposed to answer that?"   
Evan paused in his calcium binge. "Aright, stupid question. Force of habit." He downed another   
glassful before adding, "You gonna keep those?"   
"What?"   
Evan gestured with his glass. "The wings."   
"Guess so," Kurt leaned on the back of a chair. "How are you feeling?"   
The younger boy rubbed his forehead. "I'll live."   
"Not everyone was so fortunate today," Kurt sighed.   
"Not one of ours?" Evan looked up sharply.   
"One of ours?" Kurt considered. "In a way. She-" His eyes went wide. "32 Wetherby Street," he   
whispered.   
"Huh?"   
"Professor!" Kurt bolted from the room, mindless of the nasty whack his wings suffered from the   
doorframe.   
  
Jean spread the sheet over the study couch, moved aside to allow Logan to lay down the body, then   
respectfully folded the cloth over the dead.   
The three mutants stood back, contemplating the woman they had known for only a few hours.   
The door slammed open, and Kurt nearly fell over in his haste to get inside. "32 Wetherby Street!"   
he blurted.   
"What?" Logan blinked.   
"Fraulein Malcom...a son...32 Wetherby Street," Kurt gesticulated wildly.   
"Calm down and talk sense, Elf."   
Kurt froze in his frenzied motions, took a deep breath, and started again. "She has a son," he   
explained. "She wanted us to take him in. Her last request..."   
Logan groaned. "Brilliant..."  
  
{Ding dong!}   
Nathan didn't look up from his math homework. His mom had told him lots of times not to open the   
door when she wasn't home.   
{Ding dong!}   
They didn't usually ring twice.   
{Bang bang bang}   
"Hello?" called a voice. "Nathan Malcom?"   
They knew his name. Nathan laid down his pencil and peeked around the kitchen doorframe.   
{Ding dong!}   
"Are you home? It's important!"   
Nathan sidled up to the door and pressed his back against it. "Who's there?"   
"Friends of your mother. Could you let us in?"   
After making sure the chain was firmly in place, Nathan opened the door to peek. "I don't know   
you," he said suspiciously.   
"I know," said one of the girls. "We only met your mom this morning. Can we come in? It's really   
important."   
"Go away," Nathan slammed the door and slid the bolt across.   
"I'm sorry for this," the girl said, "but we *have* to come in."   
The next thing he knew, she was standing in his living room, unlocking the door.   
"How'd you get in?" Nathan asked with some alarm.   
"Never mind," the girl pulled the door open, and her friends entered the house. "My name's Kitty."   
"I'm Jean," said the girl with red hair. "Nathan...your mother died today. She was shot."   
The young boy reacted predictably. "How?" he whispered. "When?"   
"Do you know what your mother did for a living?" Jean asked, guiding him to the couch.   
"Yeah," Nathan stared at nothing. "She worked for the Friends of Humanity publishing company.   
Customer service." When no one said anything, he added, "They print important stuff for people to   
know. Like infomercials on paper. The kind of mail that gets addressed to 'Resident'."   
The boy leaning on the endtable sighed. "The publishing company is a cover," he said. "Friends of   
Humanity is really an anti-mutant organization. Your mom crossed the boss, and he shot her."   
"Mr. Reimund?" Nathan looked up. "Why? He was such a nice man..."   
"It's complicated," said the grown-up still hovering in the doorway. "Long story short, your ma's last   
wish was for us to take care of you, so that's what we're doing, whether you like it or not."  
~  
"We have her at the Institute at the moment," said the boy. "You can say 'goodbye' if you like.   
Before we make arrangements."   
Nathan looked at all of them. "You're all - mutants?"   
"Ja. Some of us are more mutant than others. Herr Reimund thought it'd be a good idea to   
experiment on me." The boy touched his watch, and there was a blue demon with angel's wings   
sitting at his table. "He gave me these wings."   
"Whoah," said Nathan. "Ick factor or not - those are kinda cool."   
The demon-boy smiled. "He wanted bat wings, but he got these instead. I kinda like them this way."   
"The FOH," said the girl, "they experimented on me, too." She showed him scars. "They aren't   
exactly nice people to mutants."   
"But - you look normal..."   
The boy turned on his human guise again. "Lots of mutants do. That's why the FOH are so scared   
of us. Your Mom quit because she saw that they were really just abducting and torturing *people*,   
not things. That cost her her life, and we're sorry about it... but - she asked us to look after you."   
"You still have a choice," said the man. "You *could* go to a relative if ya want."   
"And miss out on living with mutants?" said Nathan. "No way! Count me in. And - you didn't kill   
Mom. Intolerance did."  
~  
"Aright then," said the man. "Let's go. We got one more stop before we head back to the Institute."   
"What about my stuff?" Nathan asked.   
"We don't have time now," the man said impatiently. "Get yer house-key. Someone will bring you   
back later."   
"Kay," Nathan ducked into the kitchen and shuffled through the contents of his backpack. "Got it."   
"Oh, and kid?" the man paused in the doorway. "Y'understand this is a secret?"   
"The mutant thing?" Nathan shoved the key into his pocket. "Sure. No problem."   
  
"Well, it's been fun," Todd said when they finally reached the Brotherhood house. "I'm going back to   
bed."   
"Me too," Fred yawned.   
"Hey, what about a celebration party?" Tabitha said.   
"Celebrating what? We didn't actually *do* anything," Pietro pointed out.   
"Since when do you need a *reason* for a party?" Tabitha turned on the radio. "The day they start   
making laws for that, I'll blow myself up."   
"I saved Kitty," Lance grinned vacuously.   
Pietro and Tabitha exchanged glances.   
"You sure did," the speedster agreed. "Great job, Lance."   
Tabitha produced a sixpack of ginger ale from the refrigerator. "Here's to Lance," she lifted a can,   
then popped the tab and drank it down.   
  
Kitty phased through another front door that was not her own, and immediately backed out,   
coughing. "Dead," she reported.   
Kurt sighed. "I'd hoped they were bluffing."   
"Why would they?" Logan said. "Fixit's parents weren't worth anything to them."   
"Three for the morgue, then," Jean said sadly.  
~  
The overall mood at the mansion was gloomy. Forge and Nathan sort-of commiserated together   
while everyone else either sat in corners or stared at them.   
Kurt was starting to feel guilty about his wings, even as he combed the soft feathers. Sure, they   
were a glory, but they'd cost Forge his parents. Nathan his mother. His friends captivity and pain   
and fear. They also cost him a significant amount of freedom when it came to food. He *had* to have   
high-calorie, high-protein foods, now. Sugars, though addictive, only gave a very short boost and, if   
they were all he could get, were a shortcut to a downward spiral.   
And he still had to explain everything to the ones he'd loved.   
The police had gone to break into the FOH headquarters and pick up the wreckage and arrest the   
survivors. The news was going on about "survivalist terrorists" wrongfully incarcerating students and   
experimenting on them. Kurt didn't want to testify, right now. Reliving the pain was not his thing.   
Still, he had to tell someone. He picked up the 'phone in his room and dialed a very long number.   
"Hallo? Mama? I have some bad news -- you may want to sit down..."  
~  
Astrid Wagner was fairly certain of her own personal strength, but being as how Kurti had a knack   
for getting into creative trouble, she sat. "I'm sitting," she reported.   
Kurt didn't bother to beat around the proverbial bush. "We had a run in with the FOH today," he   
said.   
"And?"   
"They managed to kidnap us."   
"And?"   
"They decided to experiment on me."   
"And?"   
"It worked."   
"And?"   
"I have wings."   
"And?"   
"That's all."   
Astrid took a moment to process their conversation so far. "Is that the bad news?"   
"Well," Kurt paused. "They're nice, but kind of inconvenient. And...some friends died this morning."   
"Aren't the Friends the bad guys?"   
"Nein, Mama, those are the *Fiends*."   
"Ah." Pause. "So what are you thinking?"   
"I don't know," Kurt sighed. "I've wanted this for so long, and now I feel so guilty."   
"Kurti, I'm using my super mother powers to send you a hug. Do you see it?"   
"Ja, it's coming." There was a muffled sound at the other end. "Danke. I needed that."   
"Now, what do you want to do?"   
"I don't want the wings," Kurt decided. "I wanted to fly under my own power, and an experiment by   
my enemies doesn't count. If it's meant to be, I'll get another chance."   
"Such is the way of the universe," Astrid said.   
"Okay," Kurt said. "Dankeschoen, Mama. Call you later. Tschuss."   
"Tschuss, Kurti."   
{Click.}  
~  
There was one more number he had to ring.   
"Amanda?"   
"Kurt! Where *were* you all day?"   
"Abducted by the FOH, but we got out okay. Mostly okay."   
Now she sounded afraid. "How okay is mostly okay?"   
"We lost a new friend, Forge lost his parents... And that friend I mentioned left us with an orphan."   
"Could you just tell me the story from the beginning? This is getting confusing, hon."   
Kurt took a deep breath and did as he was bade.   
"You have *wings* now?"   
"Ja. My dearest dream and fondest prayer. Given in pain and death by a madman. Ironic, ja?"   
"Ironic as all hell. You okay?"   
"I don't want them at this price - but I'm scared it might be my only chance. Liebe. I *am* going to   
get rid of them, but-- there's something I want to do, first."   
"What's that?"   
"Would you like to fly with me?"  
~  
She was waiting on the roof when he arrived. Kurt glided down to meet her, fluffing his feathers and   
throwing out his feet to land with as much grace as he could manage, having not possessed his   
wings for long.   
Amanda walked sedately towards him, mouth open. She didn't say a word until they were mere   
inches apart, and then all she could come out with was, "Whoa."   
"You like them?"   
"They're beautiful," she replied. "Can I - "   
"Sure, go ahead," he leaned down a little, tilting the wings so that she could reach up and touch   
them. Her hands were soft, her touch light, and he found himself shivering.  
She withdrew her hand, stuffing it back into the pocket of her coat. There were things to be said   
about living in an apartment building; in instances like this the flat roof was useful, but the altitude   
was definately a con. "Cold?" The hand re-emerged holding a battered and worn scarf, and she   
offered it to him.   
"Nein, but danke," Kurt bent his head, and she carefully wrapped it about his neck. Straightening   
up, the Elf inhaled deeply. The fabric was wool, and infused with the mismatching smells of   
potpourri, car grease and cinammon, with just a dash of perfume around the edges. In short, it   
smelled of Amanda.   
"Do they hurt?" she asked suddenly.   
Kurt considered this. "Not as such. Not any more, at least. I got more than a little of Herr Logan's   
healing factor, but before... in that place..." He trailed off, the memories still too fresh for him to   
relive without wincing.  
Amanda saw his reaction and stroked his cheek, smoothing down the fur and whispering, "Shhh, it   
must have been terrible for you. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."   
"It was... but, it was worse for others. At least I still have my family," he said, thinking of Forge and   
Nathan. "And, for a little while, anyway, I've achieved my dream."   
"You're really not gonna keep them?" Amanda asked, regarding the huge wingspan with awe.   
Kurt nodded. "They cost too much, liebchen. I could never use them, or look at myself in the mirror   
without remembering what was lost tonight for me to have them. They aren't mine," he lifted a hand   
and patted one. "They belong to those who died. They're the ones who sacrificed so much. These   
wings are theirs."   
Amanda cupped his chin, bringing his eyes up to meet her own. "If that's what you want, Kurt, then   
I'll stand by your decision, and I'm sure your friends will too. They'll understand why you don't want   
them."   
Kurt clasped her hand in his own. "But I do. I... I want these so much. But it's not right. To keep   
them would be a constant reminder of what evil people are capable of doing. I don't want to be just   
some end product of Reimund's dream. I want my own dream, on my own terms."   
A small smile creased the contours of her lips. "You know I love you," she murmured.   
"Liebling, you don't know how good it is to hear you say that." He caught her arm, pulling her into   
his embrace.   
"Hey, what - " Amanda was surprised, especially when he reached down and swung her up into his   
arms.   
"Please, liebling," he said, walking to the side of the building and perching delicately at the edge of   
the rooftop. "Give me the honour of joining me on my last flight?"   
Amanda turned her head, which wasn't all that far from his, and gazed up at him. His golden eyes   
were sorrowful, yet speckled with happiness as the wind ruffled his hair and feathers. She could feel   
them flexing behind him, testing the air as his tail twirled around, ready to be off. And she gave her   
answer by pressing her lips firmly over his.   
Kurt gasped as she broke away, but grinned as her arms wrapped around his neck and she   
prepared herself by nestling into his strong arms. She trusted him, and without saying a thing she'd   
given him the greatest gift she could.   
"Yeeee-haaaaa!" Kurt yelled, diving forward off the roof and plunging parallel to the apartment   
building. His stomach virtually scraped the bricks. He was a sleek, smooth bullet, speeding down   
face-first past the darkened windows and relishing the air pushing against his face.   
At about the fourteenth floor, he suddenly spread his huge, white wings, clenching the muscles and   
curling up to soar effortlessly into the sky. Clouds whizzed past, but he paid them no heed, twisting   
and turning with wild abandon. His feathers caught the slightest breeze and turned it to his   
advantage, and like a banner they streamed behind him. He whooped with joy, and Amanda   
clutched at his chest.   
He looked down. The dark-skinned girl was yelling with delight too, her own cries echoing his as   
they danced on air and spiralled over Bayville like a pair of birds.   
_Nein, not just any birds,_ he corrected himself. _Doves. Birds of peace. Right now, I am an eagle,   
but soon I will be a dove, because I'm giving up my wings for peace._  
The thought spurred him on, and he swooped vertically, popping out of a cloud bank to glide along   
the top. By leaning one way, he let the tip of his left wing trail through the nebulous mist, and by   
tilting the other, his right wing did likewise. Amanda loosened her hold long enough to drape an arm   
through, and left a dark line where they'd been.   
And at that moment, bar none, Kurt had never been so happy in all his life. Let them take his wings   
away. Later, he would be a dove. But now he was an eagle.   
~  
"I want you to be with me," Kurt said.   
"Forever," Amanda promised.   
"That too," Kurt grinned. "But I meant tonight. For the procedure."   
"Hmm?"   
"When they take off the wings."   
"Of course," Amanda kissed his cheek. "I'll love you when you go in, and I'll love you when you   
come out."   
"I know, liebes. I know."   
  
Two more sheets had been procured, and Forge's parents were laid out on the floor of the study.   
There, two sons mourned.   
"Why, Mr. Reimund?" Nathan cried. "Why?"   
"Shoulda killed him myself when I had the chance," Forge growled. "Electric drill to the gut oughta   
do it."   
"Don't say that!" Nathan shouted. "He was a nice man!"   
"He killed your mother!" Forge shot back. "He forced me to help him torment innocent people, and   
he still murdered my parents!"   
"No," Nathan pressed his face to the floor. "It isn't true. It isn't true."   
  
Kurt and Amanda, grounded once more, entered the mansion hand in hand.   
While they were gone, Jean and Amara had apparantly repeated their trick from the FOH base to   
repair the broken glass of the front doors.  
Kurt, being aware of the temporary purpose of the study, headed instead to the Professor's private   
room.   
{Knock knock}   
"Come in, Kurt."   
The furry mutant opened the door and led Amanda through.   
"Yes?" The Professor, sitting in his recliner, looked up. "What can I do for you?"   
"Herr Professor," Kurt said resolutely. "I don't want the wings anymore."   
"Are you sure?"   
"Very."   
Xavier nodded. _Hank, if you're feeling all right, would you come upstairs?_ He ended that telepathic   
connection and opened a new one. _Forge, I'm sorry to bother you, but would you come upstairs for   
a moment?_   
Dr. McCoy, who had been resting in his own room, arrived quickly. "Yes, Charles?"   
"Kurt has decided that he would like the wings removed," Xavier explained. "Would you be able to   
do that?"   
Hank considered. "Possibly. The healing factor could be a problem."   
Forge appeared in the doorway. "What?" he said crossly.   
The Professor repeated Kurt's request.   
Forge glared at Kurt. "My parents *died* so you could have those," he spat.   
Kurt, seeing the raw fury in the inventor's eyes, backed off a step.   
Forge advanced. "I thought you were a decent guy, but I guess not."   
"Forge," Kurt placated.   
"You don't care about other people at all, do you?" the irate mutant shouted. "You only care about   
yourself!"   
"Forge."   
"You probably rescued me from the Middleverse just so I could invent those things for you!"   
"Forge!"   
"You ungrateful little-"   
"*Forge*!" Kurt put a strong hand on his friend's shoulder. "Stop. You're not thinking straight."   
Forge continued glaring, his black eyes darting back and forth across Kurt's face.   
His posture slumped, and he sighed. "You're right," he said. "I'm sorry, man."   
"It's all right," Kurt soothed.   
Forge paced away, folding his hands with index fingers outstretched. "It will have to be an   
amputation," he thought out loud. "I don't know if healing factor can regenerate lost limbs. Certainly   
not very quickly." He shook his hands in contemplation. "The healing factor probably won't   
recognize the wings as part of Kurt's body, and shouldn't do much for them. This can work."   
"I'll go prepare the OR," Dr. McCoy excused himself.   
"I didn't know you had one of those," Amanda said.   
"Neither did I," Kurt admitted.  
~  
Kurt and Amanda headed downstairs for a brief snack, then met up with Beast and Forge again in   
the operating room. Forge was all business, and, to tell the truth, it was creeping Kurt out. A few   
minutes ago he had been in a rage because of the loss of his parents, but now--nothing.   
"These are OR scrubs," Beast said to Forge, indicating a pile of clothing on the table as Kurt and   
Amanda made their entrance.   
"Oh. Are they? [13]" Kurt cracked.   
~  
In truth, Kurt was more than a little disconcerted by the sterile room with the stainless steel table.   
Not to mention embarrassed by his continued state of shirtlessness. He just couldn't figure out how   
to put one on.   
"Amanda," Beast offered a set of scrubs to the human, and she quickly put them on. "Mr.   
Wagner?" He gestured to the operating table.   
Kurt took a deep breath and laid himself out on the shiny surface, stomach-down. Forge offered a   
flat, plastic-wrapped pad for his head, which he gladly accepted.   
"Normally a patient would be anesthesised for this kind of procedure," Forge said, "but I can't give   
you anything without putting you out for hours."   
"It's all right," Kurt said. "Healing factor helps a lot."   
"Here's the plan," Forge stretched out Kurt's right wing and tapped it just above where it left his   
shoulder. "We're going to amputate close to the base. I'm going to give you something that should   
kill the internal parts. Then your healing factor should fix anything else that was messed with.   
Okay?"   
"Fine," Kurt closed his eyes and focused on breathing evenly.   
Amanda slipped forward to crouch in front of Kurt's face and hold his hand. "It's gonna be all right,"   
she said softly.   
Kurt hummed and squeezed her hand. He could feel Herr McCoy supporting his feathered limb while   
Forge felt out bones and muscles through the tight skin. Some surgical tool that Kurt didn't care to   
look at whirred into life. He could feel it slicing through flesh. There was a sickening crack as the   
bone broke.   
Amanda winced as Beast laid the severed wing on the floor.   
Blood oozed from the ruptured vessels, staining the last living feathers. As Kurt kept his eyes tightly   
closed, a thin cover of skin grew to cover the wound.   
"If you'll move aside," he heard Herr McCoy say.   
Amanda gently removed herself from his grip. His tail whipped back and forth, searching for her until   
it contacted warm skin.   
She allowed Kurt's tail to wind around her wrist, and crouched down again, stroking his hair   
comfortingly.   
The procedure was much the same on the other side, and no less unsettling.   
Forge then produced a large syringe, and carefully injected half of the yellowish substance into each   
of Kurt's shoulder muscles, right beside the tattered remains of his wings.   
"Okay," Beast said. "We're done."   
The stumps of Kurt's wings twitched weakly. Amanda assisted him up and off the table. He was a   
little unsteady on his feet, but insisted on loosing the endmost pinion from each wing.   
"For you," he presented Amanda with the left wing feather.   
She accepted it, careful not to damage the intricate pattern of soft hairs. "And you'll keep the   
other?"   
"Nein, this is for Rogue," Kurt explained. "The right for a friend, the left for love." He grinned. "May   
you never forget how to fly."  
~  
Nathan was still snivelling in the study, all his tears spent. For a short while, he'd taken solace in   
the boy Forge, who also shared his grief, but now he was gone, and Nathan was all alone.   
Except for the bodies, of course.   
He supposed, in all the confusion, the nice Institute people had forgotten about him. Most of them   
probably still thought Forge was in here, or that he was somewhere else with some*one* else.   
Nathan wiped at his nose with his sleeve. He didn't particularly want to see or be with anyone at the   
moment. He just wanted his Mom.   
And she was the only one he couldn't have.   
Fresh tears tracked down his cheeks, but they were mere trickles compared to earlier. He'd been   
fine until he got here. At home, after that doorbell rang, he'd been thrown into a whelm of confusion.   
Mutants really *did* exist, and one of them was even the Bayville Demon; they'd been living here the   
whole time, and the corporation his mother had worked for had been trying to exterminate them   
every step of the way. Everything was such a shock, he'd barely had time to register that she was   
dead.   
Dead.   
Such a short word. Like a full stop. The end. Odd that such a tiny thing could mean so much and   
cause such grief.   
"Why didn't you tell me, Mom?" he asked of the empty air. "Did you think I'd hate you for what you   
did? You're my *mother*... you *were* my mother. I'd have loved you no matter what."   
He couldn't stand it anymore. Getting to his feet, Nathan crept carefully across the darkened room   
to the couch where the crisp white sheet lay. He stood at one end, just staring for a minute or so.   
He couldn't be certain. Left his watch at home, hadn't he. Damnit.   
All he wanted was to see her one last time, to say goodbye to her face instead of to a coffin. But, at   
the same time, he was frightened. What would he see? What would she look like, dead?   
Reverentially, he extended a trembling hand and took the edge of the sheet in his fingers.   
"Hey!"   
Nathan whirled around, dropping the fabric and jamming his hands behind his back.   
A boy with brown hair, about his height, stood in the doorway. He fumbled at the wall for a moment,   
before finding the lightswitch and flicking it on. Immediately harsh brilliance filled the room, making   
Nathan blink after being in the mournful dark for so long.   
"Wha - " he muttered unintelligibly, shielding his eyes to peer at the one who'd invaded his privacy.   
The boy walked forward, smiling. "Nathan Malcom, right?"   
Nathan scowled, not wanting him there. "Is there anybody in this place who *doesn't* know who I   
am?"   
The hand extended towards him abruptly retracted, and an expression of momentary hurt crossed   
the new boy's face. Nathan sighed and turned away. He was quite perturbed when the other youth   
came to stand beside him, but it alleviated when they both stood for a while in respectful silence.   
Finally, Nathan broke it. "Sorry 'bout that. Didn't mean to be rude."   
"S'alright. You're entitled. I'm Bobby Drake, by the way." Again, the friendly hand was extended,   
and this time Nathan accepted.   
"So what's your power?" he asked, for want of something else to say. "You're a mutant, right?"   
"Yup," Bobby replied. "I freeze things. Codename's 'Iceman', so that should give you a bit of a hint."   
"Were you captured too?"   
At once, the cheery expression left Bobby's face. "Uh-huh. All of us were. The FOH were very   
thorough."   
"Oh."   
They lapsed into silence again. Bobby shifted his feet, uncomfortable, but Nathan just kept staring   
at the sheet under which the last mortal remains of his mother lay.   
"You know, you shouldn't blame your Mom for what she did. She was worried about you, that was   
all. Everything she did for the FOH was because she cared about your safety in the big wide world."   
"You knew her?" Nathan looked up, and Bobby nodded emphatically.   
"She pulled my fat outta the fire more than once. Saved my life. Saved all our lives." He chewed the   
inside of his cheek, not meeting Nathan's sorrowful eyes. "I'm sorry about what happened to her,   
really I am, Nathan. If I could change things - "   
"You can't," Nathan cut him off. "You freeze things, remember, not rewind time."   
"Uh.... yeah."   
More silence. Then: "I don't blame her for what happened. I don't blame you, either. Heck, when it   
comes down to it, I don't even blame Mr. Reimund."   
Bobby goggled. "You don't."   
"Nuh-uh. Life's too short to hold grudges against those who've already got their comeuppance. I   
just..." he trailed off.   
Bobby followed his line of sight and put two and two together. "You just wanted to say goodbye,   
huh?"   
"Mmmm."   
"It wouldn't be the same, y'know. If you look under that sheet, the only memory you'll have of her will   
be when she's dead. If you leave her be now, you can remember the good times instead."   
"You get that from a movie?"   
"No, it's just common sense. Listen, Nathan, I won't stop you if you really wanna see her. But do   
you really wanna lose all the other memories you got?"   
Nathan said nothing, and avoided the other twelve-year-old's probing gaze. He stared blankly at the   
sheet, as if by looking hard enough he could make everything better. Put everything back the way it   
was before.   
Bobby watched him with concern, eyes dark with worry about what the grieving boy would do. He let   
out a sigh of relief when Nathan eventually turned to him, grinning, and asked, "Is there anything to   
eat around here? I'm starving."   
Bobby beamed, and led him away. "Come on, I'll give you a guided tour of the mansion. First stop:   
the kitchens. That's if Fuzzy's left anything edible for us."   
"Fuzzy? Who's that, your cat?"   
Bobby laughed. "Nathan, you got a lot to learn, my boy."  
  
"And so we commit them to the earth. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes," intoned the robed minister,   
holding his hand out over the trio of pits in a salute of farewell as he balanced a thick volume in the   
crook of his other arm.   
The bleak party surrounding the graves huddled together, assorted black clothes rustling unusually   
loudly in the silence the empty graveyard afforded. The mutters and whispers apparent inside the   
church were gone, and each stared sadly as each coffin was lowered down and the occupants laid   
to final rest.   
Nathan and Forge did the honours with the shovels, refilling their parents' graves with a powdery   
coating of loose soil as per the minister's instructions. Logan offered his services to help Forge, and   
took care of the boy's father's coffin while he buried his mother.   
Eventually, the assemblage dispersed, breaking off into smaller groups and talking amongst   
themselves as they allowed the two boys time to say their final goodbyes.   
Professor Xavier looked back at them, and sighed. "I wish I could do more."   
"Y'done plenty, Chuck," Logan assured him. His suit - oddly out of place on his burly frame, and   
creased in all the wrong places - was dirty and rumpled from where he'd willingly jumped to help   
Forge in his task. "They'll hurt fer a long time, but it's fer the best. Y'did all ya could already."   
Xavier just looked sad. "I just hope Forge and Nathan enjoy life at the Institute. Neither of them had   
any plans to move there."   
"Couldn't be helped," his oldest friend replied. "You tried to find relatives for 'em to go to, but it didn't   
work. They'll come around," he too looked back. "Eventually."   
"Mein Herr!" called a voice, and both men turned to see Kurt hobbling towards them. Kitty and Evan   
walked either side of the Elf like sentries, despite his holowatch. The three of them drew closer, and   
stopped just before Xavier's wheelchair.   
"Kurt," the bald man allowed himself a small smile, "Kitty, Evan. How are you three?"   
"Like, fine," Kitty answered for them, but her eyes told of an unknown strain that even Charles found   
curious. Far be it from the telepath to probe her mind, but Kitty's grief wasn't merely limited to the   
funerals, even the most untrained observer could see.   
"Man, these things are so *depressing*," Evan commented, shaking his head. "If I had my way,   
funeral's would be all about celebrating people's lives, not mourning 'em."   
"Wise words, mein Freund," Kurt laid a hand on his shoulder. "Perhaps one day it'll catch on, ne?   
But for now, I think our friends need this time to mourn. They lost a lot." There was a catch to his   
voice, though his face remained painfully upbeat.   
_So did you, my boy,_ thought Charles to himself, watching quietly.   
"Looks like they're coping a little better than we thought," Kitty said, indicating towards the lonely   
duo. "Or Nathan is, at any rate."   
They swivelled as one to see Bobby walk up to the smaller of the pair and pause for a second by   
his side. A few words passed between them, and Nathan shook his head before nodding and   
following the X-Man away without a backwards glance.   
Forge didn't even raise his head. He just kept staring blankly downwards, dark hair swishing lightly   
in the stiff breeze. He wore a long overcoat, but it swung open and loose. He'd obviously forgotten it   
as his mind strayed elsewhere.   
Kurt's face fell. "Poor Forge," he heard Kitty whisper.   
"Yeah," said Evan, "Poor Forge. He lost *everything* trying to help us."   
"One of us should go, like, talk to him or something."   
"And say what?"   
Logan stepped in. "Nah, sometimes it's best just to leave people alone. From where I'm standin', the   
kid don't wanna be bothered right now."   
Kurt blinked doubtfully, but started when Xavier's lugubrious tone addressed him.   
"Kurt, it wasn't your fault, what happened. Forge knows that," he tapped the side of his head. "He   
just needs to come to terms with what happened. And himself. Joining the X-Men... it's a very big   
step, as you well know yourself."   
"Jawohl, I do," Kurt agreed. "But I feel so guilty, Herr Professor. If it weren't for me... and mein..." He   
gestured flaccidly, but there was no need to explain what he meant.   
The back of his suit bulged ever-so-slightly at the shoulder blades where redundant wing-joints still   
rested. He'd carry those scars for the rest of his life, reminding him of what he'd lost, but it couldn't   
be helped. In fact, Kurt had insisted on keeping them the way they were when offered the chance of   
more surgery. Whether as a peace-token to his friend's sacrifice or something else would forever   
remain his own secret.   
"He'll be all right, Kurt," Charles said solemnly. "He will. Just give him time." And not one of the   
assembled group disagreed with the telepath.   
As time crept by the graveyard began to empty, and various X-Men filtered out to wait at the X-Van   
that had brought them hence and was still in the church carpark. Soon only a handful of them   
remained, Kurt among them.   
"Like come on, Fuzzy," Kitty tugged on his arm. "It's time to go."   
"Ja...." The disguised Elf looked around, and spotted a lonely figure still poised at the graveside, as   
if to dive in beside the coffins. "Uh, go on ahead of me, Katzchen. I'll catch up."   
Kitty gave him a look, but shrugged and did as he said.   
Kurt waited a moment longer, and then sighed. Biting the bullet, he walked up to his friend. No   
matter what the Professor told him, there were things that needed to be said. He only wished it was   
easier.  
~  
Forge stood on the edge of the grave, his mouth moving in silent last respects.  
Kurt paused a few paces behind, waiting for him to finish.  
Forge touched the headstone, then turned to go. "Hi," he said simply.  
"I'm very sorry," Kurt said as they walked away.  
"Don't be," Forge said. "In fact...thank you."  
"Huh?" Kurt was completely taken aback.  
"If you hadn't rescued me from the Middleverse, I wouldn't have gotten to see my parents," Forge   
explained.  
"If I hadn't rescued you from the Middleverse," Kurt countered, "the FOH wouldn't have killed them."  
"They would have died eventually," Forge reasoned. "I'm grateful for the time we had."  
  
"Rogue!" Kurt caught up to his sister on the road to the cemetery gates. "I've been wanting to give   
this to you." He fished a feather out of his pocket and offered it to her.  
Rogue took it gently by the base. "What's this?"  
"Last feather from my right wing," Kurt explained. "So you'll remember our promise."  
"Ironic place for it," Rogue gestured vaguely at the gravestones.  
"People die, but dreams are immortal," Kurt said. "Even if I don't fly again in this life, I know I'll earn   
my wings in heaven." He slid onto the bench beside her. "You just have to believe."  
"Well, call me Dumbo," Rogue watched the light play on the feather, "but maybe I do. After all,   
you've just proved it's possible."  
"All things with faith," Kurt grinned.  
"Good things to those who wait," Rogue played off his words. "Let's see if I can make patience one   
of my virtues."  
  
THE END  
  
NOTES AND WHATNOT  
[1] Forgotten the name of the movie, but it's about an abuse victim rescuing a kid from another   
abuser. She had a little prayer, which went, "[Name] alive and unharmed", which was a kind of   
shorthand for 'get me out of this alive and unharmed'.  
[2] South Park  
[3] Another, rather more obscure Lois McMasters Bujold reference. Folks have been known to throw   
a sacrificial goat off of sleds to stop wolves pursuing them.  
[4] A Duchennes smile is a smile that doesn't affect your eyes, and therefore looks fake.   
Duchennes was the guy who thought to name it.   
[5] Help me! Logan...Professor...Katzchen...  
[6] You won't beat me   
[7] You're not in a cage   
[8] Not anymore   
[9] It hurts  
[10] Logan. Snikt.   
[11] Brave one  
[12] There Ain't No Such Thing As A Free Lunch  
[13] From _Rushmore,_ I think it's called. Oh, so funny. 


End file.
